Spreading Divine Grace

Despite the many challenges ahead, Luoshu still had one advantage: time.

He had 25 days to prepare.

Last time, he'd unified the city in just four days. With 25 days, he could accomplish far more.

But what exactly should he do?

The 24-Hour Action Guide was only good for short-term tactics. What he needed now was grand strategy—something far-sighted and systematic.

What Luoshu needed most was a strategic mastermind—someone like Zhuge Liang, capable of laying out a sweeping plan like the Longzhong Dialogue.

To find such talent, he summoned all the gang leaders for a council, hoping to uncover a hidden genius among them.

Unfortunately, these were men of the wasteland—raised on violence, not books. Fighting was their nature; grand strategy was beyond them.

Frankly, most had never even left this ruined city. The "worldliest" among them had only ventured to the outskirts.

After hours of chaotic debate, not a single useful idea emerged.

Everything they suggested, Luoshu—with his 140 IQ—had already considered.

But this wasn't a real-time strategy game. In this world, you couldn't just "farm resources" or "tech-rush military production."

25 days wasn't even enough to build a proper city wall.

Was his only option really to follow the Guide's advice—flee with Sasha?

No.

These people were his believers.

It wasn't that he cared deeply for them—but their existence made him stronger.

The last time he'd used his Cult Leader ability here, he'd noticed something: Every new believer slightly increased his sense of reality.

Later, when he used it on Aeolus and Guard Xin-Chen-8-C-011 (the reality bender watching SCP-CN-722-5), the boost was exponential—raising his personal Hume level to 120.

The essence of the Cult Leader ability was simple: Steal a fragment of reality from each believer to empower yourself.

This was how Prester John had gone from an ordinary king to a Level 5 reality bender.

If these believers died, his strength would wane.

So unless absolutely necessary, he couldn't abandon them.

Just as Luoshu was about to dismiss the useless "Elders," one suddenly knelt before him.

"Prophet... there's something I must ask."

Seeing these once-ruthless gang bosses speak so politely under the influence of "faith" was almost comical.

But since this was an "Elder," Luoshu had to hear him out.

"Speak. The Lord will listen."

The man's face lit up. "Great Prophet, that... holy water you used this morning—do you have more? Many of our faithful are sick. Could you bless us with some?"

Holy water?

It took Luoshu a second to realize he meant the "water from the stars"—the same water that had healed his infected wounds in hours.

No wonder they saw it as divine.

Fine. It's not like it costs me anything.

He had the Elders bring a large vat, then activated his ability, filling it with the miraculous liquid.

(Author's Note: You all keep talking about "filler content"? THIS is how you do it properly!)

Watching their Prophet create water from nothing, the Elders fell to their knees, crying "Miracle!"

Within minutes, the vat held hundreds of liters.

"Use it freely. If it runs out, there's more tomorrow."

The Elders scrambled to fill every container they had—buckets, jugs, pots—hauling them back to their territories.

Before Luoshu's rule, these gangs had fought constantly over scarce resources, leaving many wounded.

In this broken world, medicine was nonexistent. The sick either recovered naturally or died.

The Prophet's "holy water" had just patched a critical weakness.

The next morning, a crowd gathered outside Luoshu and Sasha's hotel—healed believers, there to give thanks.

Some no longer called him Prophet.

Now, it was "Living God."

Before, their faith had been brainwashed devotion—more psychological dependence than true belief.

But now? They had witnessed a miracle.

Shallow faith became fanaticism.

Those brought back from death's door? Max-level zealots.

Seeing this crowd of fanatics, Luoshu's eyes gleamed.

He'd found his answer.

The Plan: Spread Divine Grace

If technology and armies weren't feasible, he'd change this world's development path.

Abandon science. Embrace mysticism.

He gathered the entire city in the central square—thousands of believers, packed tightly.

Standing before them, he activated his Cult Leader ability and began preaching.

"You called me Prophet. Some now call me Living God. But I am merely the Lord's emissary—sent to deliver you from suffering."

Last time, he'd been cautious—too bold a claim might backfire.

But now?

The crowd was at least lightly devoted, many fully convinced, and a few fanatical.

This second sermon would:

Strengthen their faith.

Set the stage for his next move.

"The Lord says too few in this world know Him. He commands you to spread His grace—to guide lost lambs back to His embrace!"

All this mysticism had one purpose:

Recruit more believers.

He laid out his plan:

The zealots—those healed by the "holy water"—would leave the city, carrying it to nearby towns and settlements.

Their mission? Convert the masses.

On the third day of Luoshu's return, dozens of teams set out—beginning his campaign of divine expansion.