Chapter 972

Anthony reacted quickly, jabbed his two fingers into the statue’s eyes, blocking its view of him, and after remaining still for a moment, the statue’s eyes slowly closed.

Anthony carefully stepped back three or five paces, then said: “How can it still move? Your seals aren’t effective at all.”

“You got too close,” the Grand Councilor said with deep implication. “You must be very familiar with the Spirits—knowing how to soothe them too.”

“Of course we are—we were driven out by these damn things. All of Orgar’s forces are these things—he has a whole army of Spirits.”

The Grand Councilor gestured toward the statues in the space. “Do you know all these Spirits?”

Anthony floated up slightly, gazed down for a long while, then said: “Some I know, some I don’t. Even the ones I know look different. Are these all your captives?”

“Yes, all captured by me. I killed the bodies they possessed, twisted off their heads, pulled out the Spirits, bound them with soul-chains, and periodically whipped them or burned them with flame—each time they sizzled loudly.” The Grand Councilor spoke with vicious intent.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "You're a pervert. But why tell me all this? You don't think I'm one of them, do you? Trying to test me?"

The Grand Councilor snapped his fingers. “Better safe than sorry. If you truly worship the Spirits, you couldn’t watch them suffer without reacting. As long as you don’t worship them, we can be friends.”

With the Grand Councilor’s snap, chains across every statue in the space erupted in soul-fire, scorching the statues—now all eyes snapped open, and a piercing wail filled the air, turning the space into a slaughterhouse.

“Boring.” Anthony reached behind him, pulled out a recliner, and lounged comfortably while sipping juice.

Minutes passed. Anthony remained as relaxed as ever. Only then did the Grand Councilor stop torturing the Spirits. “Looks like you really have nothing to do with them.”

Anthony sipped his juice. “I already said we have nothing to do with them. But you think this alone can test me? What if I’m just deeply reserved?”

“Spirits draw power from belief. Lose belief, and you lose power and self. No amount of reserve matters.” The Grand Councilor said.

Anthony knew the Spirits’ nature well—this was just talk strategy. He countered: “What if I’m from another hostile faction? What if I’m a spy from the Phile Empire who doesn’t worship Spirits?”

“Heh.” The Grand Councilor chuckled. “Outside the Spirits, nothing in this Void is worthy of being my enemy. The Phile Empire is an enemy of the Divine Light Alliance—not mine.”

Anthony’s expression turned solemn. He sat up from the recliner.

Just as the Church of Light once attacked the Star Republic—not because the Stars were enemies, but because they were atheists.

The Divine Light Alliance and the Phile Empire are currently at odds, but that’s merely a conflict between two factions. The Grand Councilor doesn’t care. He cares only about Orgar and other Spirit Warriors who worship Spirits.

He’d heard someone say once that the Phile Empress couldn’t defeat the Divine Light Alliance—until she summoned Orgar to assist in governance, and drove back the invaders.

The Grand Councilor believes the Phile Empire has no right to be his enemy. Therefore, whoever does must be stronger than the Phile Empire.

…

In the underground roots, the sapling waved its true leaves excitedly, sending out fervent messages.

Under the sapling’s urging, the new World Tree sent out countless roots, wrapping around the roots left by the Lord of Life.

The once-dead roots, now entwined by the new roots, slowly revived, visibly plumping up; peeling back the bark revealed clear new layers beneath.

Yet the Lord of Life’s aura vanished entirely, replaced by the aura of the new World Tree. Though this new World Tree sprouted from the Lord of Life’s wood, a new shoot from rotten wood is no longer part of the rotten wood.

As a World Tree, the Lord of Life had a finite lifespan. Unable to evolve into a Void Tree, and without a stronger entity to symbiotically coexist with, withering was simply part of nature.

Had it not been to witness the sapling’s growth, the old tree likely wouldn’t have chosen to symbiotically bond with Ang—instead, it would have become part of nature, withering at the end of its life. Plant logic is just that strange.

“Are you planning for the new World Tree to replace the old one?” Negril asked.

Ang nodded.

Negril understood. A balanced-elemental main plane is enormous in volume—not like the Abysses, where one World Tree can cover everything. Sometimes, even one World Tree can’t cover a main plane.

Take the Lord of Life—he lived over ninety thousand years but still couldn’t cover the entire plane, only the Elven Forest. Partly because other factions watched him warily, and the Lord of Life, lacking any ambition to dominate, was too lazy to fight for more.

Even without being watched, covering the entire main plane isn’t easy. The World Tree of the Starburst Plane still hadn’t covered the whole plane decades later, due to insufficient life force.

Growing a Life Tree is easy—Ang just needs to step on it. But making it cover the entire main plane requires the participation of the entire plane’s life, iterated countless times.

Though this World Tree has withered, its dead wood still spreads across the entire plane. If the new World Tree can replace it, vast amounts of life force and time will be saved, allowing it to reclaim control of the entire plane.

With the protection of a World Tree, all animals and plants on the plane will no longer suffer from the Light Plague.

While busy, Ang suddenly heard Anthony’s call. He rubbed his fingers together, and a box teleported over.

Inside, he saw row upon row of black crystals, each containing tiny specks of light.

Negril’s eyes widened. “Chaos Black Crystals? Chaos Mist sealed inside black crystals becomes Chaos Black Crystals? Oh, why didn’t I think of that?”

Ang reached out, and a wisp of Chaos Mist indeed separated from the black crystals, gathering into his palm.

Anthony’s voice continued: “My Lord, the Grand Councilor has agreed to our deal. This is the payment for clearing the Light Plague from this plane. I’ve also taken on contracts to clear the Light Plague from other planes. The Divine Light Alliance has eleven main material planes and twenty-one inhabited Abyss planes. The Grand Councilor is willing to pay another twenty boxes of equal size.”

Ang said: “Accept.”

As he spoke, Ang pressed his hand to his chest—the Chaos Mist surged into the black crystal there, condensing into tiny specks of light.

“Huh? That’s so little! Is he cheating us? All that Chaos Mist from a whole box of black crystals, and you’ve crammed it into a black crystal the size of your fist? And weren’t you going to manifest a dimensional space for farming?” Negril asked, baffled.

Ang pointed to the small black crystals in the box. “Container.”

Then he pointed to the black crystal on his chest. “Soul.”

Then he extended his index finger—a small phantom emerged, opened its mouth wide, and “ate” Ang’s arm.

“Farming.” Ang moved his arm as he spoke.

“You’ve devoured the Chaos Mist to strengthen your soul? Fine, now you’ve got your farming space too. Anthony’s too slow—you’ve already solved it yourself.” Negril grumbled.

Sometimes, a boss who’s too capable is a problem. You give a task, someone struggles to finish it, only to find the boss has already done it himself.

Ang shook his head, pointing to the black crystals in the box. “More. Useful.”

At that moment, Anthony’s voice rang out again: “By the way, My Lord, you may need to project once more—too many people are affected by the Light Plague. I’m going to unleash Divine Grace Abundant. Please, My Lord, grant me divine power.”