Chapter 977: Do You Believe in the God of Commerce?

When Old John’s airship led the way, Negril couldn’t help whispering: “He said their village is small, with probably few people—what are we going there for? Why not find a major prime plane with more people and use the best channels to spread the word?”

Anthony asked curiously: “You always spread faith this way?”

Negril replied: “Of course. And I must go to the gates of major academies in big cities—otherwise, they won’t understand a word I say.”

Anthony smirked and nodded: “No wonder. Impressive.”

“I know you’re sneering—then tell me, what’s wrong with my method?” Negril asked, hands on hips.

Anthony said: “Faith doesn’t need to be understood. The most devout believers are often ordinary people who can’t even read the holy scriptures, while the clerics and priests who’ve studied them inside out are the least pious. Wait—now that I think about it, Lord Negril, you’re truly remarkable.”

“Huh? Really remarkable?” Negril’s face flushed. It could tell sincerity from flattery—even if it wasn’t sure which this was. It was rare for Anthony to praise it so genuinely. Had it some hidden strength it hadn’t noticed?

Anthony sighed: “The more knowledge one has, the more one argues. You ignited divine fire through the faith of intellectuals who love to argue, question, and probe endlessly—truly extraordinary.”

“Of course. Now you know how impressive I am,” Negril boasted, hands on hips. “So how do you spread faith?”

Anthony spoke slowly: “Faith is the hope of the weak. The flower of devotion blooms only from suffering. When someone is starving, a loaf of bread is their faith, their hope. When a person endures utter despair, even a sliver of hope can give rise to the most devout bloom.”

“So I spread faith starting from the most desperate places. In big cities of the prime plane, even beggars rarely starve to death—it’s hard to harvest true devotion there.”

Anthony’s words reminded Negril of the bull-woman. Yes—back then, a single sack of grain had won her absolute loyalty. Later, when her belly swelled from eating, no more grain could tempt her—she only gnawed on turnips.

“But this guy’s village is just small, not especially poor. They have airships—they can’t be destitute. One magic crystal is enough to support his whole family,” Negril said.

Anthony shook his head: “Not necessarily. Do you know who’s poorest in the Church of Light’s relay stations?”

Negril shook its head.

“The horsekeepers. They feed the horses, but the horses aren’t theirs. If funds are delayed or withheld, they must pay out of pocket to feed them—never let a horse starve, or they’ll be burned alive.”

“These two are the same. They patrol in airships, but the airships aren’t theirs. Maintenance costs money. Magic crystals cost money. They’re either extremely rich or desperately poor. Look at their clothes—do they look wealthy?” Anthony asked.

Negril shook its head. It understood this well—look at collars, cuffs, hems, hair, nails, shoes. The rich could dress plainly, but never looked dirty, messy, or torn.

If collars and cuffs were grimy and frayed, the odds were high the person was both poor and lazy. A few rich people might pretend poverty out of laziness—but if they were truly lazy, they couldn’t possibly maintain perfect deception in every detail. After all, they were lazy.

Thinking this, Negril had to admit: “Your experience really is vast.”

Just then, the airship ahead slowed, glided a short distance, and stopped.

Soon, Old John’s awkward voice came through the communication array: “Uh…um…my lord, our airship ran out of magic crystals chasing you—we can’t move now. What do we do?”

Anthony and Negril exchanged a glance, both wearing expressions of “as expected.” Anthony spoke into the array: “Then come over here and guide me—I’ll tow your airship.”

“Huh? This…alright,” Old John replied, sounding disappointed.

No magic crystals? Just give the honored guests a few—why go through the trouble of towing?

Unable to grasp the honored guest’s thinking, Old John stammered and agreed, then quickly added awkwardly: “My lord, we can’t come over—we can’t fly. Could you come pick us up?”

Earlier, he’d boarded by jumping from the airship as it neared. Now, with no magic crystals, his patrol craft couldn’t approach at all.

“Alright, I’ll come get you,” Anthony said. He’d invited them over for a reason.

But as soon as he spoke, Du Luo, who’d been tinkering nearby, hurried forward: “Use this! Use this!” and pushed out a strange-looking flying vehicle.

“Huh? Isn’t this that white-light patrol flying car from earlier? Why is it only half?” Negril recognized it at once, surprised.

Earlier, when the border patrol had stopped them, among a swarm of red-lit flying cars, two had emitted powerful white energy signatures.

These white-light flying cars had a bizarre design: their main body was an extremely long cannon barrel, with a tiny cockpit hanging from the rear—like a snail carrying chopsticks, utterly disproportionate.

Du Luo had been transfixed the moment he saw it, squatting alone on one side to craft it, while Ange occupied the other side of the airship.

Now, what Du Luo pulled out was just the tiny cockpit—sitting in it felt like crawling into a snail’s shell.

The cockpit had only two seats. After Anthony piloted it over, he tossed it to Old John and Aji, then flew back.

Old John and Aji obediently tied up the patrol airship, then flew back in the cockpit.

As soon as they entered the room, Du Luo asked: “What’s the name of that flying car with the cannon barrel?”

Old John stared at Du Luo, then involuntarily glanced back at the cockpit he’d just flown in. You have one of these—and you’re asking me its name?

Old John said: “My lord, are you asking about the Sky Patrol Cannon?”

“Sky Patrol Cannon?” Du Luo murmured, chin resting on his palm.

The Alchemy King was showing signs of becoming “Ange-like”—easily distracted, indifferent to everything else, but obsessed with alchemical devices.

Du Luo had realized this place was a treasure trove of alchemical technology. Every construct he saw applied novel techniques—like this unheard-of Sky Patrol Cannon, essentially a flying magic-crystal artillery piece.

This concept opened a new world to Du Luo, flooding him with inspiration. New ideas surged endlessly, and he soon squatted back down to work.

Old John found this strange behavior unsettling and felt lost. Aji was worse—he hadn’t raised his head since entering, hiding behind Old John.

Suddenly, Aji, head bowed, heard the clinking of magic crystals. The sound gave him courage. He forgot his fear and instinctively lifted his head.

Before Anthony lay several large sacks. The top one was open. Anthony held a handful of magic crystals, letting them slide from his palm back into the sack, clinking as they fell.

Each time a crystal dropped, Aji swallowed. Each time a crystal dropped, he swallowed again—nearly choking himself.

Anthony smiled warmly: “Do you believe in the God of Commerce?”