Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

“Yes, yes, your Holiness, please rest assured; I will certainly handle all of it aptly,” Dyson responded, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Dressed in heavy ceremonial attire, and wearing a crown that felt like tens of pounds heavy, Dyson’s neck felt like it would snap under pressure.

Certainly, his strength could make him indifferent to the weight of his clothing. Yet, trailing behind Guliani, he didn’t dare to tap into his power and had to bear it all physically.

That wasn’t an issue, but it made him sweat. At this moment, his back was drenched, his undergarments soaked through.

Yet, Guliani continued to ramble on inconsequentially, his advice resembling neither instructions nor orders, similar to idle chatter with a lighthearted village farmer.

Dyson was declaring his loyalty while rapidly processing Guliani’s intentions. Guliani wasn’t merely making things difficult for him, there must be something Dyson hadn’t done to satisfy him. But what was it? Dyson had to carefully ponder over it.

He had attempted to probe by declaring generous donations and offering to relinquish some critical positions to Guliani’s candidates, only to have Guliani deflect the conversation.

Clearly, his assertions had not addressed what mattered most to His Holiness.

What could it be? Dyson was at his wit’s end. He realized he had been in the Land of the Fallen for too long. He was out of touch with the Master Plane, completely unaware of what the Pope truly cared about.

Realizing this, Dyson sincerely expressed: “Your Holiness, I have spent too much time in the wilderness of the Land of Fallen, fighting mindless Undead for so long that my thinking has dulled. I’m unsure about the true interests of the curia anymore. Could you please enlighten me?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Even when in the wilderness, one must always remember the real interest of the curia lies in its believers,” Guliani responded.

Dyson’s mind raced: Believers? So the issue lies with believers? What was His Holiness implying? Did he hope for an expansion of believers?

It couldn’t be – the Bishop was already responsible for that – there was no need to beat around the bush. He would simply have to say it outright. Was His Holiness hoping for a reduction in the number of believers? That could be arranged – a few severe pandemics and famines would suffice. But what purpose would that serve him?

After some contemplation, Dyson tentatively voiced, “Believers are like lost lambs. They cannot see through the fog ahead and need guidance from the shepherd from time to time. I have spent too much time in the Land of Fallen and have sometimes become lost and would appreciate the curia’s support. Perhaps reassign some devout priests to navigate the direction of faith.”

Guliani laughed, nodding in agreement, “We do indeed need to guide them constantly, else they might end up like Anthony, misguided by evil gods. You’re doing well, maintaining a devoted heart. Don’t follow in Anthony’s footsteps.”

Dyson’s heart pounded in his chest. He understood what Guliani intended to do – he wanted to steal faith!

Moreover, he was already doing it. At that moment, Guliani’s eyes bore into him with a golden hue, not even attempting to hide it from him.

My God, golden pupils were at least a demigod’s symbol. Had Guliani attained the body of a demigod?

A panicked Dyson knelt, pressing his forehead against the ground, barely daring to move. That Guliani bore his golden pupils for all to see meant Dyson had only two choices – survival or destruction?

“Please guide me, Your Holiness!” Dyson roared, without daring to lift his head.

“Go, lead the believers onto the right path.” Guliani smiled kindly as a scepter slowly appeared in his hand.

“Yes! Your Holiness!” Dyson got up and responded loudly, only then noticing the scepter in Guliani’s hand: “Huh? The Papal Scepter? Is this the old Papal Scepter? I thought it was lost? Where did it come from?”

The mention made Guliani embarrassed: “Eh, Anthony offered it.”

“What? Anthony offered it? Why would he…” Dyson was bewildered. Anthony was about to sever ties with the curia, why would he present the Papal Scepter, which held such great symbolic significance?

“Ah, I fell into that guy’s trap. This is just a mock-up. He organized an exhibition of lost ecclesiastical relics. I don’t know where he got a lot of lost relics. He exhibited them in the major cities of the Eastern Diocese, saying that these relics were spiritual, and only the truly recognized ones could use them, then he presented me with the Papal Scepter.”

“When I got it, it indeed was the Papal Scepter, but more than half of it was rotten, and then patched up. I had to use it. If I didn’t use it, it would mean I didn’t get the approval of the scepter, which really pissed me off.”

Guliani’s rare moment of uncontrolled frustration was starkly different from his usual composed papal demeanor.

Dyson suddenly felt a sense of loss in his heart. He was still under Guliani’s control, unable to resist, and yet Anthony was already playing the pope. Was this their difference?

…

After a full month, the Heart of the Holy Spirit within the Broken Seal finally recovered.

Anthony, who had received the news long ago, came early to stand guard, waiting to witness the rebirth of the Supreme Holy Spirit, the Six-winged Archangel, Wisdom Angel Luna.

He casually chatted with Negris: “Sir, you should be careful recently. Dyson has been appointed as the Archbishop of the Western Diocese and has already started taking office. Once he consolidates the power of the Western Diocese, he will definitely cause trouble for you.”

Negris retorted: “Why? We don’t steal, we don’t rob, we just mind our business in the desert. Why would they bother us?”

“If it were me, I’d also start with you. Nomads from the Abyss, rootless and wealthy. I have heard rumors in the East that you guys have a lot of money in the desert, even minor beauty treatments cost tens of thousands of Demon Crystals. There are already people offering rewards for investigating your backgrounds.” Anthony said with a ‘how are you so clueless’ expression.

After speaking, he added: “Killing Nikola was a brilliant move. The high-level members of the Western Diocese are in complete chaos and have been unable to elect a new bishop, so they are powerless to deal with you. But after Dyson takes office, it will be different. He is a powerful individual, there’s no evidence, but I’m certain that he was the one who attempted to assassinate me, not Nikola.”

“Hmph.” Negris grumbled a couple of times, and said: “Let them come. You said that the high levels are in utter chaos. Even if he takes office, it will take some time to consolidate power.”

“No, others might fail, but Dyson can succeed. He did not return from the Land of Fallen alone, he brought back many powerful subordinates. The military strength of the Land of Fallen is acknowledged as the strongest among the three dioceses. I can’t deal with him without some tricks.” Anthony solemnly said.

Negris was a bit panicked by his words: “What do we do about this? This is a desert, we’re not afraid of assassinations. But it would be troublesome if he sends an army upstream. Though we have wiped out the Silver Knights, he will have to mobilize a force larger than the Silver Knights to threaten us. Can he gather so many people in a short time?”

Anthony glanced at him: “You underestimate the power of our diocese. All along, only the church’s power has been directed at you. The church is good at manipulating people’s minds, not so good at organizing combat. If Dyson could convince the human kingdoms…”

Just as he was speaking, a report interrupted Anthony. After giving permission, a Purple Skeleton Titan brought someone over. Shamara walked in timidly, asking with some hesitation: “Sir, the voice in my heart tells me I should be here, is that correct?”

Just after she finished speaking, the last bit of the Heart of the Holy Spirit in the Broken Seal finally restored, and a faint wave of energy dispersed.