Chapter 971

The Magistrate was indeed a female elf; from the right side of her face, she looked quite beautiful, but the left side of her face and neck ruined that beauty—a series of bulges covered all her exposed skin, some ulcerated, others merely swollen, and in an instant, Anthony remembered Liu.

The ulcerated areas were external wounds, easily treatable, but the intact bulges were not—they were skin mutations, permanently fixed as part of the body; healing magic could only cure the bulges.

That is, even if you cut off the bulges, they would regrow after healing, because to the body, the bulges were normal. Something capable of mutating healthy skin could not be cured by healing magic—only the Fist of the Beauty Goddess could fix it.

The Magistrate’s expression darkened; she rewrapped herself in the blanket and sank into despair: “Leave me alone. Let me die.”

The Grand Councilor “fumed”: “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

“Who can’t do it? I said I can’t cure this disease—I need my Lord to come in person,” Anthony said.

“You yourself said the Lord of Radiance has perished, meaning no one can cure it. Don’t mention the Lord of Life—I know better than anyone whether that bastard can handle it. You’re a fraud,” the Grand Councilor “fumed.”

Anthony sneered: “Hmph, you probably don’t even know—I’m the spokesperson of the Beauty Goddess. My Lord’s divine power is boundless and multifaceted; even the power of Radiance can manifest as the Beauty Goddess’s might. Look at this ugly woman.”

Saying this, Anthony grabbed the maid named Aire. He could guess why the Grand Councilor had suddenly flown into a rage—the man was clearly shifting blame.

He had brought Anthony here, stirred hope in the Magistrate, then declared it impossible, plunging her into disappointment and despair. He feared being blamed, so he instinctively tried to pin it on Anthony.

Such behavior shouldn’t appear in a Grand Councilor—probably the Magistrate had been raised by him since childhood, treated like a daughter or granddaughter, and that’s why he acted this way to avoid blame.

“Ugly woman?” Aire, who had been watching indifferently, first froze, then stared wide-eyed at Anthony, fury flaring instantly—how dare he call her an ugly woman?

But before she could react, Anthony summoned holy light and smeared it over her face, rubbing a few times: “How’s the Beauty Goddess’s power?”

Aire forgot her anger and immediately touched her face—her fingertips felt something strange: why was her skin so soft?

“Huh? It’s become much prettier. Can the power of Radiance be used for beauty? Amazing,” the Grand Councilor exclaimed. Aire’s skin had clearly turned whiter and smoother; her acne scars had vanished—the change was striking.

Aire pressed her face, disbelieving. If even the Grand Councilor said so, had she truly become beautiful? But she didn’t trust male judgment; she instinctively glanced at the Magistrate.

The Magistrate, who had already sunk back under her blanket in despair, had been curious at the Grand Councilor’s words and was peeking through the blanket. When she saw Aire’s transformation, she couldn’t help but let out a soft “Huh?”

The Magistrate, still wrapped in her blanket, walked over and touched Aire’s face, trembling as she asked: “Can the Beauty Goddess really cure my illness?”

“Of course she can. My Lord’s power is so great—even if you had only a strand of hair left, I could bring you back,” Anthony said with a look of “devotion.”

The Magistrate clenched her teeth: “I believe you. What preparations do I need?”

Anthony looked “troubled” at the Grand Councilor: “You don’t need any preparation—but to invoke my Lord’s power, the energy cost will be immense…”

The Magistrate looked pitifully at the Grand Councilor, who frowned: “You’ve emphasized the reward and energy cost over and over. Do you think I can’t pay? What exactly do you want?”

Anthony said: “Chaos Mist.”

“Ssshh—no wonder. Your appetite is too huge. Why do you think I have Chaos Mist?” The Grand Councilor drew in a sharp breath.

“You’re the Grand Councilor of the Divine Light Alliance. If you don’t have it, I’ll have to find someone else,” Anthony spread his hands.

Everyone caught Anthony’s unspoken implication: If you don’t have it, I’ll go elsewhere, treat others, and won’t treat you.

The Grand Councilor glanced at the Magistrate, conflicted.

Anthony quickly added: “And treat all victims of the Radiance Plague—except those with this kind of mutation.”

The Grand Councilor clenched his teeth, waved his hand irritably: “Fine, fine. Cure her first.”

Anthony nodded and turned to the Magistrate: “What’s your name?”

The Magistrate said: “I’m Liya.”

“Liya, don’t move,” Anthony warned, then mentally cried: My Lord, save me!

A divine soul projection appeared; Anthony reached out, plucked a shadow from Liya’s body, punched it, and slammed the shadow back into place.

With the mutation’s bulges cleared, only the external wounds remained. One healing spell later, Liya’s facial bulges visibly flattened; the ulcerated areas stopped oozing, healed, scabbed, and shed.

Scars would normally remain, but as the surrounding skin whitened, the scars became barely noticeable.

Liya touched her smooth face and wept silently. She would rather die than reincarnate—she couldn’t bear to live on with that ulcerated, ugly face.

“This child…” The Grand Councilor sighed, shook his head, and turned to Anthony: “Come with me.”

Anthony started to walk out, but his arm tightened—maid Aire forced a smile and pulled him: “My Lord, I’m the ugly woman. Could you give me a punch too?”

As long as she could become beautiful, being called an ugly woman didn’t matter.

Anthony nodded kindly, punched Aire right in the eye socket, then slipped out as she screamed in pain.

This time, the Grand Councilor walked farther, leading Anthony through winding turns, descending deeper, leaving the “tabletop,” and arriving at the edge of a vertical shaft.

A gust of wind blew from the shaft—dry and biting.

The Grand Councilor leapt down; Anthony followed. After falling hundreds of meters, the aura of death grew denser; by the time they neared the bottom, Anthony began feeling his body stiffen.

Wind Stiffening? Creatures of the Abyss of Rest often suffer a disease called Wind Stiffening—where their flesh hardens from exposure to the Resting Wind. The wind in this shaft was no less potent than the Resting Wind.

Of course, this damage no longer affected Anthony—he had dozens of ways to neutralize it, and he landed silently at the bottom.

The shaft’s floor was covered in thick Resting Soil, like stepping into volcanic ash—but these “ashes” were heavy, unmoved even by the biting wind.

At the bottom were several horizontal tunnels; some were wind vents, but one had no wind at all. The Grand Councilor led Anthony toward the windless tunnel.

As soon as they entered, the wind noise faded. The Grand Councilor led Anthony into a vast chamber.

The chamber was filled with countless statues—each had a thick rope wrapped around it, their surfaces lifelike, forms varied, poses dynamic, as if they had once been alive, then instantly petrified.

As he walked, the Grand Councilor asked: “Who are you? To know of Chaos Mist, your master cannot be a fallen deity.”

Anthony didn’t hear the Grand Councilor—he was too absorbed in the statues, leaning close to examine a shield warrior statue.

The shield warrior looked familiar—like one he’d seen in Ogar’s possession.

As he studied the statue, its eyes suddenly snapped open.