Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton
Chapter 1262 - Chapter 1262 Chapter 825 This Lizard Is Really Nosy Just Hit

Chapter 1262: Chapter 825: This Lizard Is Really Nosy, Just Hit You Chapter 1262: Chapter 825: This Lizard Is Really Nosy, Just Hit You Anthony and the silver coin each brought people over, and upon seeing them, Ange couldn’t help but tilt his head sideways.

Everyone was familiar with Ange’s body language by now; this gesture meant that these people were indeed strange, and they immediately became cautious.

After some thought, Ange pointed at the people brought by the silver coin and said, “They are, fanatical, resolute, cultists.”

“Cultists, you say? But they’re not followers of the Temple of Doomsday. I asked them; they said they are survival fanatics. It seems not to be a religion, and they have no interest in Gold Coins at all,” the silver coin said in surprise.

Anthony suddenly realized, “Then I know who they are. They’re not devout believers, but they are indeed a group of very passionate individuals, a bunch that is extremely enthusiastic about extreme survival. They live the harshest life, gather the most complete supplies and equipment. They indeed have little interest in Gold Coins unless it can be traded for survival supplies.”

“The Temple of Doomsday also has a headache with these people. Leave them to me,” Anthony said as he walked toward the survival fanatics.

Among the survival fanatics, the leader was a gaunt, thin middle-aged man, his cheeks hollowed out from leanness, yet he appeared very lively.

As Anthony approached, he scanned the man’s soul and asked, “How many days have you not eaten?”

The gaunt middle-aged man blinked in surprise and replied, “My lord, it has been three days since I’ve eaten.”

“What secret techniques have you learned? The kind that can reduce bodily consumption and, when necessary, allow you to hibernate like a bear?” Anthony asked.

The gaunt middle-aged man was shocked, “My lord, how do you know? That is a secret technique passed down in our family.”

“Give me your hand,” Anthony commanded without answering.

The gaunt middle-aged man hurriedly extended his hand. They were only survival fanatics, not fools. Ange and the others descended from the Void, not to mention those Ancient Gods, even beings like Anrus were of Elven Level, and they, such frail Plane creatures, could easily be crushed by any elf on the other side.

The reason they weren’t dead was probably because the other party’s big shots were curious about them.

Anthony drew a line across his palm; a big gash immediately opened up, so deep that bone was visible, and blood gushed out wildly.

The gaunt middle-aged man contorted with pain and wanted to scream, but he clenched his teeth and endured it, not daring to retract his hand.

“Does it hurt?” Anthony asked as he shone Holy Light over the man’s palm.

“It hurts… Wait, it doesn’t hurt anymore? What magic is this?” the gaunt middle-aged man watched in disbelief as the deep wound quickly healed, asking incredulously.

“Healing magic, it can bring you back as long as you still have a breath,” Anthony said modestly.

Indeed, Anthony was being modest. If Ange had done it, he could bring someone back even if they had been dead for a few hours, though if too much time had passed, there could be potential damage to the memory.

While he was still in shock, Anthony took out a handful of Elf Beans and gave them to the gaunt middle-aged man, instructing him to share with his companions, “Beans that will fill you up with just one; have you ever tasted them? A small bag like this will be enough for you to eat for a lifetime.”

The gaunt middle-aged man was dumbfounded, as were the other survival fanatics behind him. It was as if Anthony had opened up a whole new world for them. Survival could be played like this?

Anthony smiled faintly, “These are just trivial. Survival isn’t that hard. Do you want to live forever?”

The gaunt middle-aged man blinked his eyes, thinking he had heard wrong, but when he realized he hadn’t, his eyes lit up with blazing flames.

Compared to eternal life, survival was nothing. When Anthony solemnly introduced Ange as the Undead God, Ange immediately felt a strong Soul Flame emanating from these people towards him, forming a unique Imprint in his soul, swirling around and hovering.

…

“Pfft–What? These survival fanatics have defined a Divine Technique for you? What kind of dumb luck is that? What Divine Technique?” Negris spat out a mouthful of old blood in shock.

Is a Divine Technique a cabbage, available whenever called upon? The followers Anthony had swindled into returning were also able to define a new Divine Technique? What kind of Plane joke is this?

Ange handed over an imprint, and as Negris’s thoughts swept over it, he immediately saw its purpose, “Survival? What does that mean?”

Ange shook his head, somewhat confused. This was one of the few Divine Techniques he couldn’t fully grasp at once; it required further in-depth research.

“It’s odd, don’t you think? Why are all your Divine Techniques defined by ordinary people, except for the Face Purification Technique, which was defined by Lisa? Whether it’s the Rebirth Technique, Goddess of Beauty Fist, Element Conversion, even the Undead Holy Light, and this one, they were all defined by rather insignificant people. Why is that?” Negris mused, somewhat puzzled.

“It’s quite normal,” Anthony said. “The weaker the person, the purer their faith in God, hence they can define Divine Arts.”

“Look at those with a certain level of basic strength; their faith is complicated. They not only want Divine Techniques to be powerful but also easy to learn, not harmful to the body, and preferably with additional benefits. They want to incorporate promotion, salary raise, and life extension into a single Divine Technique–there’s nothing pure about that.” Anthony couldn’t help but curl his lip as he said this, having encountered too many such people in the Church.

“But Lisa…”

“Lisa is pure, isn’t she? She just wanted to be beautiful, that’s all. Even within the Church, those who can define Divine Arts are very pure people, like Shamara. That’s why there are Saintesses and ascetic monks. It’s just that later on, things degenerated.”

After a while, they confirmed that the people brought by the silver coin were fine. They were simply not fond of Gold Coins, but if offered healing through Elf Beans or eternal Undeath, they would become fervent converts to the Undead God.

“These people are not a problem, but what about those I brought, Lord? I feel they have different souls within them. Their behavior and lifestyle have nothing to do with their occupation, education, or upbringing. It’s just strange,” said Anthony.

“Like what? They seem pretty normal to me, laughing and talking.” Negris peeked in the direction of the people Anthony had brought and saw them chatting and laughing, without any sense of incongruity between their spirits and bodies.

With obvious irritation, Anthony replied, “That’s what’s weird, okay? Among them, there are farmers, butchers, small traders, housewives, servants, and so on. I arrogantly dragged them into this forest surrounded by all sorts of bizarre creatures, yet they are laughing and chatting. Don’t you find that odd?”

As he spoke, Anthony detailed the peculiarities of each person. With Anthony’s keen observation, capable of even detecting Dyson’s multiple avatars, these people’s oddities seemed as glaring as torches in the night.

If it were one or two individuals, that could be dismissed as outliers, but in a theocracy where education is scarce and such uniquely exceptional individuals are numerous, it just can’t be a normal phenomenon.

After describing them, everyone turned their gaze towards Ange, feeling the oddness but not understanding where it lay.

Ange pointed at them, then at the ground, saying, “Consciousness contamination, they… Ancient Black Stone.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the humans who had been happily chatting suddenly turned their heads in unison, their movements bizarrely synchronized as if at that instant, they were controlled by a collective consciousness.

All of them spoke in unison, shouting neatly, “Intruders, we have nothing in common, right? Why must you dig down to the roots? Can’t you just take your people and leave? You can have all these ignorant folks. Why unearth the dark soil and peer into the endless abyss? You will regret it!”

With their uniform chanting, these peculiar people seemed to link up into a network of power transfer, with a strange force converging on the leading fat butcher.

However, as they chanted, the butcher realized something was amiss. None of them showed any signs of fear; instead, they looked at him as if they were looking at a fool.

“Damn you, what’s with that expression? Aren’t you afraid?” the butcher bellowed furiously.

“Frightened, so very frightened, but isn’t your power too weak? With such feeble energy, you can’t even break the skin,” Negris mocked.

“Hmph, foolish lizard, this is the power of consciousness! Assimilate!” the butcher roared as his body suddenly brightened. A ray of light tore through space, aiming straight at Negris.

Not sure who to hit first, but this talkative lizard will do, he decided.

A Bronze Book fell with a clatter in front of Negris; its open pages swallowed the beam of light.

PS: I’m going on a long trip, a forty-hour train ride, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to write on the train.