Chapter 963: Everyone, Move Aside—Let Me Handle This!

“Who am I? Don’t you recognize me? Who are you people?” The middle-aged man was naturally the Grand Councilor; he frowned and asked in return.

Anthony’s heart stirred; he slowly straightened his back. This movement triggered an immediate chain reaction: Negril and Du Luo exchanged a glance and silently stepped back half a pace, leaving Anthony exposed.

Ang also quietly hunched his body, hands tucked in, holding the little wisp in his palms.

Before Ang, Anthony always bent his back out of habit; when he straightened it, it meant “Everyone, move aside, let me handle this.”

Whenever Anthony voluntarily asked to take the lead, it usually meant he was about to set a trap—everyone naturally shrank back, giving him room to act.

Anthony placed a hand over his chest in salute and spoke loudly: “We are merely unfortunate refugees driven from our homeland. We do not know who you are. May I ask your name?”

“Pfft. Driven from your homeland? Fleeing? To this place? Do you take me for a fool?” The Grand Councilor scoffed dismissively.

Anthony seemed not to catch his meaning; he spoke calmly and slowly: “Where else could we flee? The entire empire has no place for us. The God-Slayer slaughtered gods who refused to submit, and registered those who surrendered. We survivors could only flee into the endless void, and only here did we find a place to land—not because we chose to come here, but because we had no strength left to run further.”

By the end of his words, the sorrow and despair within him nearly spilled out from his voice.

Others had said before that Anthony spoke like casting a mental spell, easily bewitching listeners—but it wasn’t magic, merely the art of an old charlatan. Only another equally cunning schemer could detect the trick.

The Grand Councilor was clearly no such schemer; he froze instantly, eager to protest: “That’s not what I meant… uh, never mind. Who is this God-Slayer you mentioned? And why register the gods?”

The Grand Councilor’s original intent had been: “How could refugees possibly flee to such a dead place?” But Anthony pretended not to understand, and his speech not only clearly explained their identity, origin, and reason for being here, but also flooded the conversation with so much information that it instantly diverted the topic.

Now it was the Grand Councilor who wanted to know who the God-Slayer was and what this registering of gods meant—a masterful reversal, turning passive into active.

“The God-Slayer is Ogar, the regent minister of Queen Phile. He demanded all gods in the empire register with him; those who refused were killed. He is debauched and cruel: he molested goddesses, slaughtered believers, burned crops, and even declared that after completing the consolidation, he would destroy the Godlight Guild that invaded the empire.” Anthony spoke with feigned indignation, his tone laced with resentment and exaggeration.

“Invaded the empire? When did the Godlight Guild invade the empire? I never heard of this.” The Grand Councilor asked.

“What? You didn’t know? It happened just these past few years. Some people from the Godlight Guild invaded the empire. Queen Phile somehow summoned the God-Slayer, who drove off the enemy a year ago—then turned his blade against all the gods. You truly didn’t know? Which country are you from?” Anthony asked.

“I’m from the Phile Empire too. What about you? Which god’s subject are you?” The Grand Councilor asked.

Anthony clasped his hands before his chest and summoned a layer of holy light: “My lord is Radiance.”

When the Grand Councilor’s gaze turned to Silvercoin, Silvercoin stepped forward: “My lord is the God of Commerce.”

When it turned to Negril, Negril imitated him: “My lord is the God of Knowledge.”

When it reached Ang, it passed over without pause—a planting construct could not possibly be connected to any god.

Just as he thought there were no more, a rabbit hopped behind them: “I’m Windracer. I am Windracer.”

The Grand Councilor now had no choice but to believe: “It seems a great upheaval truly occurred—otherwise, so many conflicting faiths wouldn’t have gathered here. Normally, you’d fight each other on sight. How is the Lord of Radiance? And what are these farmlands for? Do you intend to cultivate here, grow food, and settle down? You even brought a planting construct.”

He fired off a barrage of questions, and at the end, he glanced at Ang, clearly treating him as a specialized planting construct.

Ang didn’t lift his head, as if he hadn’t heard—a perfect reaction for a planting construct. The seasoned veterans now paid him no further attention.

Anthony replied: “My lord has perished. These farmlands are ours, cultivated to survive. Is this land your territory?”

The Grand Councilor said: “Huh? The Lord of Radiance perished?”

He stood stunned for a moment, then said: “Not exactly. Have you seen a creature holding a hammer?”

Anthony and the others exchanged glances, then shook their heads.

“Where could that thing have gone?” The Grand Councilor muttered to himself, then flew around the center of the plane, dragging a long string of coffins—clearly searching for the hole where the hammer had been.

As soon as he left, everyone immediately began whispering. Negril asked: “Who is he?”

Anthony said quickly: “I suspect he’s the Grand Councilor of the Godlight Alliance. Ogar said the Grand Councilor is an undead. He found this place, and recognized the hammer—he’s likely the Grand Councilor.”

“But he said he’s from the empire too. How could he be the Grand Councilor? And why did you invent so many lies about Ogar?” Negril asked.

Ogar had slaughtered gods, but he never molested goddesses, never indulged in debauchery, never burned crops—if he had burned crops, Ang would have killed him already.

“Do you believe everything he says? I was testing his character. When I mentioned debauchery, he frowned. When I mentioned molesting goddesses, he was merely startled. When I mentioned burning crops, he looked displeased. But when I mentioned slaughtering believers, his reaction was mild. So he’s the type who despises lewdness, doesn’t care much for life, but hates destruction.” Anthony said.

Anthony was skilled at creating psychological profiles. Last time in the Starburst Plane, Greys had been exposed as competitive within three sentences, and he’d easily goaded her into volunteering to join the death line—psychological profiling worked wonders on simple-minded people.

“So what now? How should we cooperate?” Negril asked.

Anthony said: “He carries chaotic energy. The Master needs Chaotic Mist. Chaotic energy can be converted into Chaotic Mist. I plan to approach him from this angle. Say nothing—just claim we just arrived here and know nothing.”

Negril couldn’t help rolling his eyes: “You really are Ang’s perfect pope. He mentioned Chaotic Mist once, and you’re already scheming to get it for him? Is this really a good way to get Chaotic Mist?”

Anthony nodded: “He seems to know the Lord of Radiance. He’s undead, yet his flesh is remarkably fresh. What does that suggest to you?”

“Holy Skin Technique?” Negril guessed.

“Probably not. But Shahe can make Holy Essence Fluid. It might be due to that. I’ll test it later.” Anthony said.

No sooner had he finished than the Grand Councilor returned—he found the tunnel leading inward had been blocked.

In a normal plane, a blocked tunnel could be smashed open. But here, the ground was laced with black crystal—smashing it wouldn’t be easy, and digging might take forever. Since he couldn’t sense the Ten-Thousand-Guiding Divine Hammer, it was probably not inside, so he gave up.

He returned to his first question: “Was it you who blocked that hole?”

Everyone blinked in feigned confusion: “What hole? Is there a hole there? We didn’t see anything.”

The worst actor here was probably Windracer the rabbit—even the sapling performed better, lying motionless on Ang’s head like a wooden part of the construct.

The Grand Councilor detected no flaw, so he asked: “What are your plans now? What can you grow in this pitch-black place?”

Anthony said: “My lord Radiance can bring light to this land. But I plan to cultivate holy mushrooms, to extract Holy Essence Fluid, and try selling it to the Godlight Alliance in exchange for grain.”

“Holy Essence Fluid? You can make Holy Essence Fluid?” The Grand Councilor asked, surprised.

Negril, Du Luo, and Silvercoin all felt a sudden surge of realization: He’s hooked.