Becoming a God Starts with Acting-Chapter 38: [Frog] - The Prophet’s Part (13)

[The important thing isn’t being the top believer like this; what matters is the strength of the Prophet, understand? As long as the Prophet is mighty, there will naturally be plenty of believers!]

In the end, the viewers’ debate concluded with this comment.

Silvanus silently felt that this conclusion was correct. However, the Prophet wasn’t a deity who could attract faith explosively. For example, those with interesting backstories and personalities usually gain attention more efficiently in a world of idols. Silvanus was even surprised that the Prophet had many fans and managed to gather a good amount of Faith points. Perhaps it was because his final move in the last dungeon was too impressive.

Though it seemed a bit ridiculous, Silvanus felt it was time to create a new god with a personality opposite the Prophet. After all, the Prophet’s card had already suffered nearly 50% damage.

By this time, they had returned to the village. The others were allowed to rest and recover in their rooms, while Drake, Silas, and the Prophet headed to Gon’s house across the way.

The moment they entered, they encountered Gray. However, he seemed even more fearful of strangers than before. He flinched in shock, then immediately bolted away without a word, his gaze toward Drake’s group filled with nothing but hostility. Especially when he looked at the Prophet—his eyes brimmed with malice, yet beneath it was an undeniable fear he couldn’t hide.

His reaction was bizarre. Was it because the Prophet had suddenly appeared?

"When did he lose his tongue?" Silas’s voice suddenly rang out.

Drake frowned slightly. The two exchanged glances, recalling Alice’s group’s battle briefly. It seemed they had arrived at some realization.

Just then, Gon’s voice sounded from inside.

"So, you’ve all arrived? Your friend is fine now."

As he finished speaking, he stepped aside, revealing Robert before Drake and the others.

At this moment, Robert was no longer writhing from unbearable itchiness. The patches of red skin and countless blisters on his body had been entirely replaced by... frog skin.

A strange, indescribable discomfort crept in.

Robert himself seemed uneasy with his new layer of skin. His face was pale and contorted, his fists trembling as if he was desperately restraining himself from scratching. He didn’t even dare to look at the patches of frog skin covering him—he found them utterly horrifying and disgusting.

Drake furrowed his brows and quickly averted his gaze from Robert, turning instead to Gon with a mocking tone.

"You’ve got a whole surgical room in your house or something?"

Skin grafting wasn’t something just anyone could do.

Gon looked puzzled. "Surgery? What’s that? I just patched him up with frog skin. This is the only way to cure it..."

So the abnormal thing here was that frog skin.

Robert’s face grew even paler, his expression twisting with terror. He didn’t even dare to imagine whether the skin stuck to his body had come from some slimy, repulsive monster.

But this was the only way to stop the itching. He had no other choice.

Why was his life like this? Why had he been dragged into this damn dungeon?!

His eyes turned bloodshot, filled with fear and despair.

"Let’s go. Thank you, Gon."

At that moment, Silas’s voice rang out.

Gon shook his head as if to say it was nothing, but his gaze lingered on the Prophet expectantly, as if waiting for some response from him.

Drake frowned, about to pull the Prophet away, when, unexpectedly, the Prophet took a step forward. He moved until he was right in front of Gon, lowering his gaze to meet his. His cold golden eyes narrowed slightly, and in his usual slow, gentle voice, he said—

"Everything will end on the day of the sacrifice. Your village will be freed."

He emphasized the words "liberation", sounding both a guarantee and a threat, making it impossible to tell how exactly he intended to liberate the village.

[After all, isn’t death also a form of ’liberation’? Ha ha ha, Prophet looks so freaking incredible like this—another believer added to the harem! If I pray hard enough, will Prophet appear by my side?]

[Ha ha ha, is this really how a god should act? What kind of deity goes around threatening people like this?]

[Come on, Prophet genuinely wants to liberate the village. You guys are just misunderstanding his words, kekekekek.]

Gon met Prophet’s gaze and could only force a stiff smile. "Then... I truly thank you, sir."

Prophet’s lips curled slightly—but it wasn’t a smile. He turned and led the way out of Gon’s house. Drake smirked mockingly and quickly followed, with Silas and Robert behind him.

Gon watched their figures disappear into the distance, his eyes devoid of emotion—gone was the image of an honest village chief.

At that moment, his sleeve was tugged. Gon looked down, raised a hand to pat his younger brother’s head, and gripped Gray’s chin, forcing his mouth open. Inside, his tongue was indeed missing—only a tiny piece of flesh wriggled slightly, slowly regenerating but at an agonizingly slow pace.

Gon’s gaze turned terrifyingly cold. "Don’t worry. I’ll get revenge for you, my dear little brother."

"Ha ha ha, you were pretty cool back there. That guy was so scared he couldn’t even speak—hilarious!" Drake laughed as he slung an arm over Prophet’s shoulder.

Prophet shot him a cold glance before shrugging him off.

Drake retracted his hand, frowning. "What’s your problem?"

Prophet ignored him and quickened his pace.

Silas couldn’t help but remark, "You two don’t act like a god and a believer at all."

Drake scoffed. "It’s all because of Prophet’s personality—he’s a total pain in the ass! I never wanted to be his top believer, you know. It’s just that I’m too damn outstanding." He shrugged smugly.

Silas was speechless.

"Prophet, you will get us out of here, right? I won’t die... right?!"

At some point, Robert had latched onto Prophet, clutching his cloak with trembling hands, his eyes wild with desperate hope.

Prophet furrowed his brows, his gaze turning icy. He raised a hand, and faint golden numbers flickered into existence.

"Step aside."

Just then, Silas’s tall frame suddenly moved forward, shoving Robert aside and positioning himself between him and Prophet—mere centimeters away from Prophet’s outstretched hand.

Prophet lifted his gaze to Silas but then turned away, resuming his stride without a hint of emotion, as if every action he took was just something that needed to be done. Nothing seemed capable of affecting him or surfacing in his expression, whether it was anger, pain, or sorrow.

Still reeling from being pushed to the ground, Robert glared at Silas with rage. "What the hell are you doing?! I was talking to Prophet!"

Silas turned his gaze toward Prophet.

"Silence."

His lips never moved, yet a voice rang out.

At that moment, a vertical eye opened on Silas’s forehead.

The eye glared at Robert—its sclera a deep golden hue, with a crimson pupil darting left and right before narrowing at him.

A bone-chilling terror surged through Robert’s spine, an unexplainable fear consuming him. He fell silent immediately.

"Go to your room."

The eye spoke.

And strangely, Robert obeyed without hesitation. He got up and left as if a puppet following a command, his movements eerily mechanical.

Drake, however, showed no surprise at this. Stepping up beside Silas, he muttered in a low voice, "Just now..."

Silas nodded. "Yeah. If I hadn’t stepped in, Prophet would’ve dealt with Robert."

Drake shrugged, smirking indifferently. "Well, killing him wouldn’t be a problem. If that bastard bothers Prophet one more time, I won’t wait for Prophet to do it—I’ll kill him myself."

Silas said nothing, his brows slightly furrowed.

It seemed they would have to reassess their understanding of this strange, seemingly harmless god...