Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton Chapter 1194

Chapter 1194: Chapter 758: They Are All Pitiful People Chapter 1194: Chapter 758: They Are All Pitiful People Hearing these curses, a nostalgic expression appeared on Anthony's face as he couldn't help but take a deep breath.

Negris noticed his expression and said with some astonishment, “You get cursed and show that kind of face? You're really twisted.”

“Heh, this tone, this mood, this rhetoric, it all suddenly pulls me back to that familiar environment I know so well. Manipulating hearts and schemes are where I excel. Lately, I've been in the Chaos Plane too long, dealing with straightforward Ancient Gods who lack any challenge, so I got a bit out of character. Watch how I play her,” chuckled Anthony.

Indeed, the environment of the Chaos Plane dictated that it was a world where power trumped wisdom. When the gap in power was something wisdom couldn't bridge, the importance of wisdom dropped significantly.

What good are schemes and strategies when they can't overcome Ancient Gods?

Thus, the fellows encountered here in the Chaos Plane were mostly simpletons, transparent to Anthony at a glance. Where he once constructed psychological profiles when meeting strangers, such a thing was no longer necessary.

This environment offered no room for Anthony to showcase his capabilities. He could only offer advice ordinarily, feeling his mind was growing rusty. Now, finally running into someone who immediately threw major accusations at them was like finding an Oasis in the desert– it would be a disservice to the abundance of water not to indulge in a bath.

Negris asked curiously, “How do you plan to deal with her? Do you need our cooperation?”

“Just help me with one thing, Lord, silence her.” Anthony took out the Echo Whistle and placed it under his tongue, singing in a peculiar tone:
“Holy Light shines, eternally brilliant, God mysteriously distant, echoes must return–'Forbidden Art of Grand Echo.'”
Ange cocked his head and casually said, “Stop the noise.”

Stop– the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!–
That simple phrase from Ange immediately emerged from Anthony's mouth, transforming into a massive sound wave that slammed into the scale-covered buildings.

The woman who had been shouting angrily from the tower was momentarily shaken, but she quickly pushed her hands forward, and a bright light flashed as if purifying the sound wave.

However, when she tried to speak again, she discovered that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make a sound.

Negris spoke annoyed, “So this was your Great Silence Technique? You said you were redefining a Divine Art, but it turned out to be a sneaky use of the Echo Technique.”

“Defining a new Divine Art isn't that easy; it's all about talent,” Anthony replied awkwardly.

“Alright, you've silenced her, what next? If it's just about silencing, why the complexity? Couldn't we just beat her up?” Negris queried, puzzled.

“Of course, it's different. Did you notice? That woman's clothes and skin look quite nice; she appears to hold a high status. But look at the others; all are emaciated with pale complexions and poor clothes. It's clearly a class divide. I used a thunderous approach to silence that woman as a demonstration for these people,” explained Anthony.

Following Anthony's directions, Negris looked towards the other buildings, and indeed, aside from the tower the woman was in, the other buildings were low and cramped. Wherever there was a window sill or door, several heads were jostling each other.

Those inside the buildings were mostly unkempt, thin, and in worse shape than the slaves in the Blood-colored Abyss.

Seeing Anthony silence the high-and-mighty woman with just a few words, most bystanders couldn't help but widen their eyes and mouths, as if witnessing the unbelievable.

Anthony continued, “That woman immediately labeled us scammers, counterfeiters, blasphemers of the Holy Light, indicative of extreme rejection. Is she rejecting us? No, she is rejecting change.”

“She doesn't want to change her circumstances. Who wouldn't want change? Those with vested interests, the ruling class. People in such classes despise change the most because it threatens their entrenched benefits.”

“Just like those conservative old carcasses in the Church, any reform seems like it would kill them, inviting the harshest suppression under the guise of–'tradition.'” As he spoke, Anthony's tone grew disdainful, likely reflecting past grievances endured from those conservative elements of the Church.

“I generally abandon this class of society,” Anthony said, “the cost to buy their allegiance is too high. It's better to distribute their advantages to others. What can be obtained from them can provide for several hundred, even thousands of poor folks, who are much easier to buy off.”

At this point, Anthony flew onto the scale and yelled, “Is there anyone who can answer my question? Is there anyone who can answer my question?”

The others in the building peeked out, exchanging looks. Many of them quickly withdrew their heads, and some children, curious to watch, were pulled back by their parents.

Good, weed out a few, Anthony shifted his gaze to those who did not retract their heads, finding a few with a curious and excited expression, and relatively young.

Finally, his gaze settled on a teenager about fifteen or sixteen years old, with an empty left hand: you'll do.

Anthony drifted over to the boy and pulled out a vegetable bun, his expression kindly as he spoke, “Hello there, can I ask you a few questions? What's your name?”

Anthony had a sharp eye for people. If he were dealing with a cautious and timid middle-aged man, he might now be kneeling, bowing his head in confusion, but young people tended to be much bolder.

After glancing at Anthony, the boy bit his teeth and took the bun, saying, “My name is Iron Skin.”

Having finished, he stuffed the bun into his mouth eagerly, as if afraid it might be stolen. However, he underestimated the bun's effects. Initially chewing with relish, he soon began burping with wide eyes.

“Hehe, this is a blessing of the Light, one is enough to fill the stomach. What happened to your hand? How was it cut off?” asked Anthony amiably.

“I stole some food and a priest cut it off,” Iron Skin replied.

“Priest?” Anthony pointed at the woman in the tower. “Is she a priest?”

Iron Skin nodded. “She's a Great Priest, and there are many other priests like her.”

Under Anthony's skillful interrogation, the young Iron Skin quickly clarified the backgrounds of these people.

Out of caution, Anthony did not proceed further and asked, “Do you believe in miracles? The God of Light can make your severed hand grow back.”

Iron Skin first paused, then his eyes widened dramatically. “Really?”

Anthony smiled slightly, “Really, do you believe in the Light? Pray to Him…”

Without another word, Iron Skin knelt down, praying in a desperate tone, “God of Light, save me, please let me eat my fill every day, please let my hand be reborn, I'll do anything you ask.”

The desire to eat his fill daily was even prioritized over the rebirth of his hand, showing that what truly moved the boy, compelling him to do anything, was not the rebirth of his hand, but that bun he just ate.

But it didn't matter at this point, as the boy had already become merely a tool. Anthony solemnly declared, “The Light has felt your devotion, the Lord's gaze is upon you…”
As Anthony spoke, he and the boy seemed to be lifted by an invisible hand into midair, rising to a position where everyone could see them, and then Ange used his hands to perform a miracle.

Although it seemed easy when Ange did it, merely cutting and sprinkling a few drops of essence liquid to regrow a severed limb was considered a miracle in anyone's eyes.

Once Anthony had openly displayed it for all to see, the majority had already acknowledged the identity of the God of Light.

At this time, Anthony brought some youths back, repeated asking for various information, and compared it with what Iron Skin had said to confirm its authenticity.

By this point, he had essentially figured out the details about these people, then he sighed, “Alas, they are just pitiable folks, let's stop playing.”

Chapter end

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