Chapter 93: I Don't Want to Be Pope!

No one knew what Nai Ge Li Si discussed with the World Tree after returning for the second time; in any case, after coming back, whenever it was alone, it would burst into laughter from time to time.

Of course, it had told Seeing Ange about the contents of the negotiation, but Seeing Ange only heard "planting trees," and went, "Oh, got it."

The tree kept being planted. In order to grow more crops on the surface, the entire population of the Resting Abyss was mobilized. Everyone's enthusiasm was high, constantly experimenting with various optimal arrangements and combinations—using the fewest trees to block the most wind and protect the most land.

The World Tree was moved here and there. If it were an ordinary sapling, it would surely have been tossed about to death, but the World Tree's life was incredibly tough—no matter how much it was moved around, it just wouldn't die.

If Seeing Ange were present, a single Instant Death Halo would sprout a crop, and the World Tree would firmly take root, thriving. After that, normal planting would suffice.

If Seeing Ange wasn't there, everyone got rather clever—they would shovel over some turf. Shoveled over in the morning, it took root by afternoon, and by evening it would grow luxuriantly.

Besides that, there were some tender vine crops. Planted for a few days, they would wrap the World Tree up tightly. Other trees might be strangled to death by them, but the World Tree especially loved it—the tighter they bound it, the more it liked it.

It didn't fear too little watering, nor other crops competing with it for nutrients. The more vigorously other plants grew, the more vigorously it grew. With so many violations of common sense, an ordinary farmer really wouldn't be able to grow them well. Instead, those who had never farmed before accepted these traits more readily.

Soon, patches of planting areas resembling oases appeared all around the Demon Valley. As the World Tree grew, the range of its shelter expanded, slowly connecting into a continuous stretch.

The World Tree, which flourished despite rough treatment, and those carefully nurtured little saplings that ended up wilted and droopy—if the elves saw this, they would probably feel quite frustrated.

The elves had, of course, asked Nai Ge Li Si how to tend the World Tree. Nai Ge Li Si had already obtained great benefits from the World Tree, so he was generous with his guidance and told them directly: just plant it however you like.

Just plant it however we like? Isn't it precisely because we can't keep it alive that we came to ask you? And you say "however we like"? Am I, the great Chunfeng Da De of Kailandeir, the kind of person who does things carelessly?

The elves thought Nai Ge Li Si was brushing them off, so they tended the trees even more meticulously—weeding, watering, catching insects. They even placed one of them inside a Dustless Barrier, protecting it under strict guard.

They were going about it the wrong way, so naturally there was no effect, and they came to ask Nai Ge Li Si again.

Nai Ge Li Si was quite puzzled: "Just plant it however you like. How could you possibly kill it by planting?"

Annoyed, the elves became even more afraid to be careless upon their return, and so the one placed inside the Dustless Barrier died.

This time the elves were thoroughly panicked, because Nai Ge Li Si had already sold them "all" five of the little World Trees. If they killed another one, they would never be able to buy another.

They hurried to find Nai Ge Li Si again, their tone much gentler, but the meaning behind their words carried a flavor of seeking after-sales service and calling him to account.

Nai Ge Li Si laughed in exasperation: "I've told you over and over—just plant it however you like. Don't water it or fertilize it. Just sprinkle a few handfuls of grass seeds around its roots. When the grass grows out, it will come back to life."

"Impossible. We tended it so carefully and it still withered and died. Sprinkling grass seeds to compete for its nutrients would only make it die faster, wouldn't it?" Nai Ge Li Si's suggestion was met with opposition from most of the elves.

In the end, it was Gai La De who said: "We've tried everything anyway. Pick one tree and just follow his instructions. I'm tired."

Reluctantly following his instructions, they said it was "however they liked," but a bunch of elves still stared at it every single day. Seeing a little bird land and peck at the bark made their hearts tremble; seeing some insect eggs drift over made their hearts tremble; seeing the grass grow wildly and a vine sprout made their hearts tremble even harder.

Thus, in this state of constant anxiety and fear, all the other World Trees died, and only this one survived.

"It's alive, right? Good that it's alive, good that it's alive. If it hadn't come back to life, I would rather refund your money. I'm exhausted. You elves could actually kill this tree by planting it. I'm impressed." Nai Ge Li Si let out a long sigh.

……

Anthony left the Holy Court's office through a long secret passage, walking along a familiar road toward the direction of the secret chamber.

He had walked this road for many years now. Ever since becoming an Archbishop, he had secretly built several hideouts to carry out certain matters that could not be conducted within the Holy Court.

The choice of hideout required that it not be too close to the Holy Court, otherwise it would attract focused attention, nor too far, otherwise the travel time back and forth would be too long.

However, the safest method was actually traveling via teleportation array, except that the large teleportation array within the Holy Court had too many users, making it very inconvenient.

Anthony was currently planning to build a private teleportation array in his own office. If successful, travel would be much more convenient in the future—close the array, and no one would know where you had teleported to.

However, the safety issues involved drew strong opposition from many people, and the success rate was not very high. After all, the Church of Light was not something he alone could decide. He had plenty of sworn enemies, among whom were two fellows who didn't get along with him. Even regarding matters within his own diocese, the other party loved to meddle.

The human diocese had two Archbishops—Anthony and Nicola—plus an Archbishop from the Fallen Lands diocese. These three Archbishops were all popular candidates for the next Pope of the Lower Realm.

As the current Pope grew older and older, facing the possibility of being summoned by the Lord at any moment, the competition among the three Archbishops entered a white-hot stage.

But it was mainly the other two Archbishops competing. Anthony wished he could distance himself from it completely. Last time he had already had the chance to become Pope, but in the end had to fake his death to escape. He never expected that, after going around in circles, decades later he would once again face the same situation.

Anthony truly wished he could grab those two fellows by the ears and roar: I don't want to be Pope.

Unfortunately, even if he really did that, no one would believe him. If you don't want to be Pope, then why is the diocese under your governance developing so well?

Why are the people in your diocese living and working in peace and contentment? Why are your relations with the rulers of various countries in your diocese handled so well? Why is the integrity index of your clergy so high? Are you trying to put on a good performance to compete for the next Pope?

Anthony found himself unable to explain.

On the surface, he was a vigorous middle-aged Archbishop under sixty years old, but in reality he was an old, wizened undead who had lived for who knew how many thousands of years. He had reincarnated as a Black Warrior, reincarnated as a living person so many times. In terms of governance experience, he could do ten times better than the other two with his eyes closed.

No matter what the situation, he had a corresponding solution. Moreover, he was ruthless and calculating, with eyes sharp as torches. Truth-detecting magic and the like were not as useful as his own eyes.

For example, in disaster relief, other dioceses would make a great show of it—calling on believers to donate money and goods, beating drums and gongs all the way to deliver them to the disaster area, personally handing out supplies that had lost seventy to eighty percent of their value along the road to the victims, harvesting wave after wave of faith, filling pocket after pocket. As for how many people died, no one cared.

Anthony did not do it this way. He would call on believers to donate, use the donations to place orders with the Mercenary Guild and the Merchant Guild, and have them transport supplies and grain to the disaster area.

Then he would organize the victims to rescue themselves and resume production, use the output from the resumed production to replenish the spent donations, and then print a batch of thank-you letters and medals to distribute to those believers who had donated.

And those donations, in the form of stipends, were distributed to the pastors and acolytes who went out to organize the victims for disaster relief. This meant that the donations made a full circle—flowing from the believers into the pockets of the clergy, yet everyone benefited, and the victims also received aid.

The donors received praise and thanks and were very satisfied. The Merchant Guild and Mercenary Guild completed their tasks, earned rewards, and reduced transportation costs. The victims received grain and supplies, could survive and rebuild their homes, and resume production.

The clergy received stipends and the gratitude of the victims, and immediately felt that their work was both sacred and valuable.

The only drawback was the inability to harvest faith on a large scale in a short period of time.

But this was precisely Anthony's intention. He had no desire to harvest faith for the Church of Light. In other aspects of handling matters, he also adhered to this principle—if it could be done quietly, he would absolutely never make a fuss about it.

But after persisting for decades, he discovered a problem: because he handled things especially well, the population of his diocese continued to grow.

With no wars or famines for years on end, believers lived and worked in peace, various countries were friendly and harmonious, and races coexisted equally and in harmony. For example, the sight of a Minotaur auntie handing out flyers on the street to recruit people into the faith was absolutely impossible in other dioceses.

Thus, a bizarre situation arose: although there was no large-scale harvesting of faith, the number of believers in his diocese grew steadily, their faith was firm and steadfast, and the total offerings were the highest.

So, inadvertently, his reputation grew day by day, and the calls for him to become the next Pope grew stronger and stronger, leaving Anthony quite helpless.

He wasn't the kind of person who would let disasters, wars, and famines spread unchecked without a care. Next time he encountered such a situation, he would still handle it swiftly. Wouldn't that mean the better he did, the higher his reputation rose? Would he have to fake his death to escape again?

Sigh, he sighed. Wasn't there a way to do good deeds without others knowing?

Returning to the secret hideout, the moment his hand touched the door handle, Anthony instantly sensed something was wrong. Every hair on his body stood on end.

The thick wooden door exploded outward, countless splinters of wood spraying everywhere. At the same time, a condensed sword light burst through the door, slashing straight toward Anthony's head.

"High-ranking Sword Saint!?" Anthony was startled.

High-ranking Sword Saints were few in number; any one of them was a famous powerhouse on the continent. Yet now one had actually come to assassinate him?

As a Cardinal Archbishop, Anthony himself belonged to the spellcasting type of powerhouse. Encountering a swordsman at close range put him at a severe disadvantage, let alone a High-ranking Sword Saint capable of condensing battle aura into a sword. Even an Archmage, ambushed by a Sword Saint at such a distance, would likely face a grim fate.

Yet Anthony showed no fear. With a sharp shake of both hands, he crossed them in front of his body. His long sleeves were shattered by the force, revealing the vambraces on his wrists.

Those were a pair of thick wrist guards, wrapping around all of Ang's small arms; when the sword radiance hacked down on them, with a great clang, it was sent rebounding away.

"God says: My twin fists shatter all that stands before them." Ang recited word by word, then punched out with a fist.

The ambushing high-rank Sword Saint's eyes went wide, his face wearing an expression of having seen a ghost: "Holy Battle Qi?! Sacred Word Art?! Aren't you an Archbishop? Why can you use Battle Qi?"