Chapter 967: Is This Result Satisfactory?

The airship descended slowly toward the location where the Grand Councilor stood; after piercing through the clouds, a vast plain stretched before everyone's eyes—entirely covered in large fields, with a great river winding through it, extending all the way to the horizon.

Bad! Lord Nai Ge's heart lurched; he turned to look at Ange, and sure enough, Ange's eyes gleamed with an unmistakable urge to rush out.

Ange hadn't touched such fertile farmland in a long time; since crossing over, every place he'd planted anything had been either barren, desolate, or scattered—this endless plain was exactly the kind of paradise every farmer dreamed of.

When Ange first built the Dimensional World, he manifested exactly this kind of endless plain, plus the river running through it; if managed well, planting high-yield crops could feed beings across several planes.

But now, the crops on the plain hung their heads in despair—leaves yellowed and scorched, stalks bent, ears drooping to the ground, some even bearing patches of black spots, as if burned by fire.

"This… this is too severe!" Lord Nai Ge said, clutching Ange.

Anthony also frowned: "This condition won't last three days—we have no time to operate, and most crops aren't ripe yet; even if harvested, they're inedible."

Ange reached out and tapped the sapling.

The sapling groggily lifted its head: "Ah—"

"Ow," Ange said.

The sapling nodded, understanding; Ange then shoved Lord Nai Ge aside and leapt out of the airship.

"Damn skeleton," Lord Nai Ge muttered—he knew this would happen. Ange couldn't walk away from farmland; how could he possibly stand by and watch so many crops wither before his eyes?

Anthony also gave a bitter smile, then immediately rallied himself: "Fine, I'll just lose a few avatars—this is actually better. If we wait too long, this season's harvest will be completely lost, and more people will die. I'll go find the Grand Councilor now."

Ange doing this was actually better: though it might expose his identity, losing a few avatars was a small price to pay to save the entire plane.

Before the Little Wraith arrived, if Ange's body was damaged, his consciousness would retreat to the Chaotic Plane—and reprojecting here would be extremely difficult, since he couldn't lock onto a location.

But now that the Little Wraith was here, he could simply retreat and reproject using the Little Wraith as a pivot—even his true body might be launched over.

Anthony, when planning, always prioritized Ange's safety above all else: if Ange didn't want to take risks, Anthony would devise the lowest-risk plan; if Ange wanted to take risks, Anthony would boldly go all out.

Anthony was the man who dared split the Church and steal the Pope's hat—his courage was never lacking; it was just that Ange only liked planting things and had no ambition, so Anthony naturally kept a low profile.

Seeing Ange land, Anthony immediately flew out of the airship and headed toward the Grand Councilor on the distant horizon.

Arriving before the Grand Councilor, Anthony shouted: "Grand Councilor, I have a way to save these crops—will you try it?"

Around the Grand Councilor, many high-level undead were already busy—gold-tier skeletons at least, plus numerous Mourning Undead Soldiers, and five or six Mourning Skeletons, including the previous Brutus.

Brutus's main task was hauling things: the harvested rice had been bundled into a small mountain, which Brutus clutched and vanished with a swift *whoosh*.

But heartbreakingly, the rice hadn't ripened yet—most grains were still green; harvesting now yielded almost no sugar content.

In another seven or eight days, the rice would ripen; if they could just hold out that long, they'd have a bountiful harvest—but now everything was ruined, and the Grand Councilor's heart bled.

Why had this Light Disaster suddenly occurred? He had lived countless long years and had never encountered such a situation—what had happened?

This plane was one of the Shenguangtong Alliance's primary grain-producing regions, and one of the planes the Grand Councilor actually controlled; though he was undead, he knew what kept society stable—control grain, and even if the Shenguangtong Alliance descended into chaos, it wouldn't collapse.

What troubled the Grand Councilor even more was that this phenomenon might not be limited to just this plane—if other planes suffered the same fate, what then? What if forests and grasslands were affected too?

If all plants in the plane withered and the ecosystem collapsed, every animal would die along with them—that would be the greatest disaster.

Should they turn everyone into undead?

While he was deeply worried, he suddenly heard: "I have a way to save these crops." The Grand Councilor nearly jumped—he looked up and saw Anthony; urgently, he asked: "What way?"

"It's complicated—I can't explain it in a moment. Will you try it? If you're willing, we'll begin," Anthony asked.

"Huh? Now? Is it free?" The Grand Councilor stared in shock.

He'd originally suspected Anthony might have some scheme—but the man wasn't even asking for anything, just ready to act. That didn't look like a scheme. Could any scheme's consequences be worse than total crop failure and the death of all plants?

Anthony, feigning impatience, retorted: "Are you annoying? Will you try it? One: yes. Two: no. Choose."

Anthony was indeed anxious—if the Grand Councilor delayed any longer, Ange might already act, and he'd miss out on any benefit.

"One-one-one-one-one—choose one!" The Grand Councilor, rattled by Anthony's attitude, feared missing the chance if he hesitated.

Anthony landed, grabbed the air before him, pulled out his staff, and drove it into the ground, muttering incantations under his breath.

First, set up the show—no matter when Ange acted, he could keep bluffing, pretending to be divine. He was the master of this.

Fortunately, Anthony was quick to bluff—just seconds after he planted his staff, a "wind" arose.

No, no wind—only the rice swayed. The stalks, previously drooping and bent to the ground, began rustling, as if swaying in a breeze.

Each sway straightened the stalks a little more; each sway improved the rice's condition. Swinging, swinging, all stalks stood upright.

Seeing this, the Grand Councilor, Brutus, and all nearby undead turned their gazes toward Anthony—but Anthony pretended to close his eyes, murmuring softly, a slow, holy glow emanating from his body, his expression solemn.

The "wind" didn't stop. The once-green ears continued swaying—each sway made them grow a little larger, each sway made them turn a little more yellow.

Finally, golden, heavy ears bowed the stalks low again—but this time, their droop was the weight of harvest.

The rustling ceased. Anthony opened his eyes, smiled, and said: "There. Is this result satisfactory?"