Chapter 436: His Expression Turned Strange

Anthony was shoved over, dazed and breathless, and Nagrillis swiftly relayed the current situation to him.

Because there wasn't time to speak, Nagrillis used telepathy, finishing the briefing in an instant; by the time Anthony stepped out of the tent, he understood the entire situation.

First, remove all clothing bearing obvious marks of the Church of Light; let Ang place the rapeseed cakes inside the tent, filling it completely, before Anthony finally pulled back the flap and stepped out.

Seeing him appear, Silver Coin exhaled in relief, Du Luo grinned, and Anthony gave each of them a slight nod, then suddenly shouted loudly: "Countess Rebiniya, look here!"

He yanked off the tent flap, revealing the pile of rapeseed cakes inside.

"Whoa!" A wave of murmurs erupted—all the refugees had eaten rapeseed cakes before and knew how filling these small cakes, smaller than a fist, were; one bite warmed the stomach and filled the body with strength.

In fact, everyone had overlooked the advantage of elf beans in disaster relief; under normal circumstances, long-starved refugees shouldn't be fed full meals right away—they must first adjust their stomachs with thin gruel, or risk severe digestive issues or even overeating to death.

This had happened both in the Abyss of Rest and in Meishencheng, and only Ang's healing had kept them alive.

But this time, there was no such concern—rapeseed cakes were filling, yet their quantity was limited, making it hard to overeat or fall ill.

Such filling cakes, now piled high enough to fill an entire tent, created a massive visual impact.

Anthony surged his power and shouted loudly: "The gods love all mortals. The compassion and love of the God of Undeath have been misunderstood and twisted by you—but it doesn't matter. You too are a child of the gods. Countess Rebiniya, will you join the God of Undeath's mission to save the world? Let you and your people personally distribute the food fairly into every refugee's hands—will you?"

"Me? Distribute it?" Rebiniya was stunned.

"Yes, you distribute it. Aren't you afraid we'll turn the refugees into slaves? Then send your own people to hand out the food, settle them, and let everyone feel the love and care of the God of Undeath. The food is right here—you can take charge. Stop letting lives be wasted needlessly." Anthony cried with compassion.

His voice was so infectious it moved listeners to sorrow and brought tears to observers, stirring deep guilt—could their suspicions be an act of sacrilege against the divine?

Silver Coin couldn't help but secretly slap his thigh: Brilliant! We just gained a batch of free laborers.

Since Rebiniya fears we'll trick refugees into slavery, let her distribute—then we just supervise.

Rebiniya certainly has many subordinates; handling this won't be a problem. But once she does, she'll bear full responsibility for settling the refugees.

We can shed our burden, harvest faith, and lure in countless believers—all three wins for us.

Countess Rebiniya's expression turned serious: "You really trust me to distribute it?"

"It's not just about distribution. You must deploy sufficient personnel to hand out food, settle the refugees, register their numbers, organize self-help production, and help them recover from the disaster—not just hand out food and call it done. Countess Rebiniya, this is the mission bestowed by the God of Undeath. Will you accept it?" Anthony's voice was hypnotic.

It wasn't really manipulation—mainly because Anthony had played the holy man too long; when he wanted to convince someone to work for him, his tone and demeanor alone could awaken their sense of duty and purpose.

Rebiniya hesitated—if Anthony had simply handed her the food to distribute, she might have suspected he was caught out and trying to escape.

But now he laid out so many detailed demands, all perfectly reasonable and professional: not just relief, but organizing production, giving refugees hope—not just handing out food and leaving them to wonder what comes next.

These words struck deep into the hearts of the refugees themselves—they feared most that after this meal, there would be no next one, no place to settle, no direction, no hope at all.

In stable nations, when disaster struck, refugees' greatest hope was that the state would come to their aid.

But in this world, every city was an independent city-state; if the city's people didn't care for them, no one else would.

Rebiniya's mindset shifted instantly—from "How do I expose these people?" to "How do I do this right?"

"What needs to be done?" Rebiniya asked seriously.

Good, she's hooked. As long as she's willing to act, it's manageable.

"Come, come—first, how many people do you have? How much space can you free up to settle them? Is your other equipment sufficient? Are production resources adequate? What difficulties do you face? I heard you originally wanted to help—then who's blocking you...?"

Nagrillis and Silver Coin relaxed, stepping aside to watch the show. Anthony himself was handling the persuasion—what was there to worry about? They could just enjoy the spectacle.

No one knew what they discussed, but Anthony picked up a rapeseed cake, tore it in half, took a bite himself, then offered the other half to Rebiniya.

Seeing Anthony eat first, Rebiniya finally felt safe enough to bite into her half.

After a few bites, she could tell the cake's advantages—and it tasted quite good. After finishing her half, she licked her lips, still savoring it; her pale, delicate tongue was alluring—but no one here was normal.

In the end, Rebiniya decided to send two hundred people, under Anthony's direction, and offered a valley to temporarily house the refugees; the tentful of rapeseed cakes would be guarded and managed by her own people.

Rebiniya went to summon her people; Anthony immediately began wandering among the refugees.

Seeing boys aged twelve or thirteen, he approached them: "The God of Undeath blesses you. May you enjoy good health."

"Is this your mother? Oh, madam, you're unwell—don't rise. Your illness is severe."

"The God of Undeath protects you. Banish the plague spirit." Anthony solemnly reached out and gripped the patient's wound; thick black mist surged forth, as if the plague spirit within was being sucked out.

But beneath the black mist, Anthony's palm emitted the glow of the Purifying Countenance spell.

After this elaborate performance, the patient's wound healed instantly; the entire family wept with gratitude.

Anthony then seized the opportunity to claim the boy had exceptional talent and could become a priest of the God of Undeath, receiving monthly offerings and full meals.

In this way, he convinced over a dozen boys aged twelve or thirteen, and a large number of devout followers.

No wonder he was a professional holy man—this performance was far more effective than handing out rapeseed cakes.

When he returned, Nagrillis asked curiously: "Why all these boys?"

Anthony took a sip of holy water and explained: "At this age, they're old enough to work, but their beliefs haven't solidified yet—they're the easiest to shape."

"What can they do?" Nagrillis asked.

"Become our eyes and ears. We have no intelligence network here—we know nothing, and could be manipulated without even knowing why."

As if summoned by his words, Rebiniya rushed back, panting anxiously: "Go, hurry! Tug says you're impersonating the Temple of Undeath—they've mobilized the cemetery's undead guards and are surrounding you to arrest you. Go, leave quickly!"

Everyone's expression turned strangely uneasy.

ps: Sweeping graves exhausted me—my lower back feels broken. I'll catch up tomorrow.