Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

 

“Shamara, it’s the Fallen Angel Shamara, the Fallen Angel is here!” The crowd let out a wave of terrified screams.

Fallen Angel Shamara had once topped the Plane Hot List for quite some time, and her corrupted Fallen Legion made people’s hearts flutter with fear.

What would it feel like if someone, who you have worshipped the light for your whole life, suddenly appears and has the ability to corrupt your faith? As soon as you are corrupted by her, you will no longer be pure and no longer recognized by the light. What would that feel like?

It was like a Minotaur suddenly rushing at you, brandishing a broom smeared with dung. The mere thought of it was enough to make your scalp tingle.

For a period of time, Shamara had become the most terrifying force to all Disciples of Light. Everyone took diligent note of her characteristics and retreated at first sight.

Now, this terrifying entity flew swiftly towards them, her massive black light wings flapping, trailing a black wake in her path.

Hovering above where Anthony was, Shamara slowly fluttered her wings. Her eyes radiated a black light and a smile hung at the corner of her mouth. She spoke loudly, “Foolish people, prayers cannot save you. Awaken and follow me, breaking free from the shackles of the light.”

This inexplicable, proclamation-like speech left the disciples trembling with fear, dreading that they would be corrupted if they listened any further.

Only Anthony wanted to crack up inside. Where the hell did Shamara find that script? It lacked enough tenor to become an opera and if she spoke a few more lines, she would surely be exposed.

Luckily, she didn’t have to recite more. A loud voice rang through the sky, “Silence, fallen soul! The light is not something you can desecrate. Black Angel of the Ascetic Monk An, I am here to judge you.”

Along with this voice came another Fallen Angel wearing holy Spirit Armor. His face was hidden behind a mask, and he had two pairs of black wings. He flew in swiftly from a distance.

Black Angel? Ascetic monk? An?

While everyone was still puzzled, the Black Angel and Shamara were already engaged in a fierce battle. Every move they made unleashed powerful energy fluctuations. Even at several kilometers away, one could still sense the astonishing power of their blows.

The ground shook from mere residual power, overturning many people. After a few rounds of combat, no one doubted their power anymore.

Shamara, with her two wings, didn’t seem to be a match for the four-winged Black Angel. After a fierce battle, she retreated in disgrace, with the Black Angel hot on her heels. They disappeared toward the end of the valley.

Seeing this, Anthony raised his arm and shouted, “Great, it’s the Black Angel under Ascetic Monk An who’s come to our aid. They must have done it on God’s command. Thank the gods, light prevails!”

He was shouting this, but Anthony couldn’t help but sneer inside, “Damn it! Who came up with this alias? Getting lazy by losing a single word?”

The disciples were stunned, then overjoyed; Anthony’s words gave them a new perspective, making them believe that the Black Angel was on their side.

“Thanks be to God, light prevails. Thanks be to God, light prevails.” Everyone couldn’t help but cheer.

As everyone cheered, a man wearing a cloak floated in the air, stepping over the crowd’s heads and walking up to Anthony.

Anthony hurriedly ordered the shield to be removed, stepped forward excitedly and bowed, “I am Anthony, the Shepherd under the Light, glad to meet you, Sir An.” ȐΑɴỘ฿Εʂ

Oh god, inside the circle of hundreds of thousands of Disciples of Light, he was saluting the God of Undead. It was such a thrill to think about it. If their identities were exposed, would these disciples tear them apart?

Ange nodded, not returning the courtesy, and immediately said, “Gather the sick.”

Though Ange appeared aloof and indifferent, no one around felt offended or found it unreasonable.

Ascetic monks are supposed to be indifferent; if they were polite, it would be truly unusual. Even if they happened upon the Pope while going to the toilet, they wouldn’t bother to greet him.

Though ascetic monks are revered, they exist outside the jurisdiction of the whole curia, not controlled by anyone.

Because some ascetic monks might spend their entire lives in asceticism without ever stepping into the world of mankind. Some would even take in students without reporting to the curia, therefore their identities remained unrecorded.

With such a haphazard practice, aren’t they afraid of people impersonating ascetic monks?

No, because their Holy Light was their God-given certification, and their power represented God.

Theoretically, ascetic monks strengthen their physical bodies through asceticism to bear the power of God, acting as God’s emissaries.

If anyone wanted to impersonate, they would be easily found out since real ascetic monks hardly have any worldly desires. Anyone with a slight desire for power is not a true ascetic monk.

Those who aim for power and wealth wouldn’t impersonate ascetic monks, even less so those who seek sensual pleasure. Only those with ulterior motives would try to impersonate, but God would never certify them.

A so-called ascetic monk who can’t use the Holy Light is definitely a fake.

Yet Ange, this imposter, suffers even more than the genuine ascetic monks. He lacks not only the seven emotions and six sinful desires, but even the ability to breathe. Furthermore, his Holy Light is so pure that it outshines the genuine stuff.

While the patients were being brought together, Ange hurled a ball of Holy Light onto the red-colored mucus, purifying it completely. He then continues to bombard the patient who spewed the mucus with balls of Holy Light.

At this time, the patient had already stopped breathing, but it hadn’t been long. He wasn’t completely dead; Ange could still sense his consciousness hadn’t dissipated.

With nothing else to do, Ange threw down the Face Purification Technique to restore his damaged organs. He then gathered the Thunder Element, placed it on the man’s chest, and released it.

The motionless body shook violently as Ange shocked it, drawing a long breath, with his heart restarting and he came alive.

Ange was somewhat surprised; when he had used this technique on Negris, a Bronze Dragon, he had struggled immensely due to their high magic resistance, to the point he had to insert his hands into their throats and discharge electricity from within.

Who would’ve thought that humans, with their lower magic resistance, would be so effective.

What was this, the legendary Resurrection Technique! A miracle! The believers around them all gasped, dropping to their knees. Even Anthony’s legs turned jelly, almost collapsing onto his knees.

A large number of symptomatic patients were subsequently brought over. Ange glanced over them, dividing their conditions into four stages: mild, severe, critical, and urgent.

The mildly infected were asymptomatic. These people had not been brought forward, but he couldn’t help but assume a large number of the surrounding crowd were also infected, but hadn’t yet shown the symptoms.

Severe cases were those already showing symptoms. Those who were brought to him were, at a minimum, suffering from severe infection.

Critical cases were those who had already suffered organ damage. Even with the eradication of the parasites, their damaged organs were not sufficient to sustain them.

Urgent cases were those on the verge of coughing up mucus.

Ange first quickly healed a dozen of the urgent cases, then took out an insecticide and handed it to Anthony: “Give it to them in different proportions.”

Anthony nodded and passed it to the head of the guard, “Give it to them in different proportions.”

The head guard also nodded, turning to hand it to his subordinates, “Different proportions, feed them.”

After receiving a murderous look from Anthony, the guard didn’t dare to pass it on to others. Instead, he gathered a few underlings to prepare the mixture. Originally, he intended to hand it to the cook, as diluting or adding seasoning would be the cook’s responsibility.

Sava had already written the proportions on a piece of paper, just needed to add water. Soon, they prepared the medication waters in different proportions.

They divided the severe cases into over a dozen groups, each group consisting of seven or eight people. Every group received the same proportion of medication water, then drank it.

The group given a one percent concentration had no reaction. The group given a fifty percent concentration immediately began frothing at the mouth, three dying on the spot and the remaining four barely hanging on to life.

Regardless, Ange had been prepared for this and sequentially smothered them with Holy Light, like coins didn’t matter. Even those who had stopped breathing were revived, and their internal parasites were purified.

With Ange’s miraculous safety, the patients did not resist the experiment at all. In fact, they eagerly awaited a reaction so they could receive Ange’s treatment and bathe in the Holy Light.

After some comparisons, Ange learned that a 3 percent concentration of the insecticide was the most effective in treating severe cases without causing any harm to the human body.

The same proportion was equally effective for the critical cases. However, they needed a healer nearby. Otherwise, even if the parasites were eradicated, the patients would still die.

Now, it was time to showcase the miracle.

For the following five days, Ange stayed here, tirelessly treating patients in critical conditions whose internal organs were damaged. Despite the low intensity of the purification technique, Angie’s unbroken, five-day-long casting, was a miracle in the eyes of the believers. Long live Ascetic Monk Ange!

Just as Ange tirelessly treated the patients, he came before a patient lying on the ground. As soon as he squatted down, the patient before him suddenly sprung up, his fist rushing towards Ange’s face.

Ange responded quickly, grabbing the patient’s fist.

The patient revealed a sinister smile, saying, “Interfering busybody, the Insect God extends its greetings. Offer up your flesh and blood.”

As he spoke, the patient’s hand melted, enveloping Ange’s palms and surging upwards.

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