Multiversal Friendship System-Chapter 223 - 222. Chelsea’s Brain, Souta’s Mouth, and the Pangolin’s Rap

"Murasame, huh..."

Souta mused.

He had honestly overlooked that Teigu.

Now that he thought about it, could Murasame's curse still work on the current Chelsea?

In the original story, after Tatsumi transformed into a dragon and went berserk, Murasame only killed the ancient dragon's soul—Tatsumi survived.

Which made Souta wonder—maybe Murasame's curse specifically targeted the soul?

If that was the case, then cellular-level immortality wouldn't help.

"Just don't let Akame cut you," Souta said, tapping his temple.

"Think bigger!

Turn into mist, or into darkness itself.

How's she supposed to cut that?

Or imagine the hardest substance you can think of—turn your skin into that and she won't even scratch you... Wait!"

Souta suddenly gave her a deadpan look:

"Why are we assuming she's going to attack you in the first place?

Chelsea, are you developing a persecution complex?"

"Come on, I'm a traitor to the Revolutionary Army," Chelsea sighed.

"If negotiations go south, they might want to get rid of me."

"You're my Saintess," Souta patted her shoulder.

"You've got the backing of a huge religious order now.

You think the Revolutionary Army would dare make a move?"

He flashed a reassuring smile:

"And even if Murasame does chop your head off, I'll just use divine power to bring you back.

With me around, you can't die even if you want to."

"...For some reason, hearing you say that actually makes me feel at ease instead of angry," Chelsea muttered with a weird expression.

Had she gotten used to it?

Or was she just more scared of dying now?

"Enough of that," Souta said, shifting gears.

"Where's Najenda and the others?"

"I had the maids escort them to the VIP room.

They've been waiting for quite a while."

Chelsea glanced at him curiously:

"By the way, you said you're planning to win them over... How exactly?"

"Simple: offer to kill the Prime Minister, clean out the corrupt nobility, and reform the Empire, in exchange for them abandoning the Revolutionary Army."

Souta grinned:

"They're assassins, right?

We just hire them to cleanse the Empire."

"So... you want them to betray the Revolutionary Army?"

Chelsea blinked.

"Najenda and the others won't agree to that, will they?"

No wonder Kurumi said the Patch of Peace leader should handle it.

If Souta went alone, it might end in a fight.

Maybe she should go instead.

"They wouldn't agree if it were just anyone," Souta said, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.

"But they can't say no to a god."

"What do you mean?"

"Chelsea, think about it," Souta explained.

"If you were picking sides, and you had two options—

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

One, a newly rich upstart;

Two, a spoiled heir burning through their fortune—

Who would you choose?"

"The rich guy, obviously."

"But what if the world's richest man personally invited you to join him?"

"Of course I'd accept!"

Chelsea answered without hesitation.

Then she froze.

Souta's analogy was actually pretty fitting.

"Besides," Souta continued:

"My strength now is basically unmatched in this world.

All I have to do is show a little power, and Najenda's group will realize—

resisting me would be like humans trying to defeat a natural disaster.

Impossible from the start."

He suddenly remembered a joke from his world:

Why bomb Syria? Suspected WMDs.

Why not bomb Russia or China? Because they really have them.

(TL Note: Is this borderline okay? I'll keep it in tho...)

If Najenda wasn't stupid, she'd know what to do.

"So are we going now?"

Chelsea asked, eyes sparkling.

With Souta backing her, she felt a lot more confident.

"Not yet.

Let's leave them hanging a little longer.

Let them realize they're not as important as they think."

Even though they'd already been waiting half a day.

Honestly, Souta was more concerned about something else.

He turned to Chelsea:

"By the way, did the Patch of Peace leader finish writing up the mythology and doctrines?

It's been a while since Altair handed you the source materials."

"Almost two months now.

It's all done.

Wait here, I'll get it."

Chelsea quickly fetched a beautifully bound, high-quality book.

The cover was exquisite, with intricate decorations and patterns.

Only a Saintess would get a copy this fancy—commoners probably got plain ones.

Souta flipped through it, reading rapidly.

DND gods could read any language instinctively, so he didn't need to study anything.

Way more convenient than a Campione's "Thousand Languages" skill.

But as he read, Souta frowned.

The doctrines were fine.

Not as user-friendly as a modern moral code, but decent enough for the era.

The mythology, though...

How should he put it?

It was kind of dumb.

If you replaced the divine name with his own, it read like this:

Souta created the world in seven days.

On the first day, he said, "Let there be light," and hacked day and night apart with an axe.

On the second day, he split the sky and earth with another axe swing...

Souta planted a gourd seed, which grew into seven little gourd boys who fought demons and protected humanity...

Souta performed seventy transformations in a single day, sculpted Adam from clay, then made Eve from Adam's rib, and had them mate immediately...

His breath became the four winds and drifting clouds.

His voice became thunder.

When he shed his mortal body, his eyes turned into the sun and moon;

his limbs became the four pillars of the world;

his skin spread out into the vast lands...

Even his sweat turned into nourishing rain.

"What the hell is this mess?"

Souta said, face full of disbelief.

East-meets-West mashup?

And wait a second—

didn't Altair say she didn't upload anything weird?

What the hell were the gourd boys doing here!?

"I think it's great," Chelsea said brightly, flipping through the tome.

"A lot of the stories are full of deep philosophy and moral lessons.

I've reread it at least three times."

"...You are so bored," Souta said, deadpan.

He pointed at the book:

"Those gourd boys are clearly a joke.

What do they have to do with me?"

"You made a forest once, right?

It had lots of moving, walking plants.

So the gourd boys are just a symbolic way of describing that miracle.

And the story's really fun!"

"..." Souta was speechless.

As a modern guy, he couldn't understand Chelsea's way of thinking.

In any case, he absolutely couldn't let the group members see this mythology.

Most of them were from modern worlds.

Even if they hadn't seen the original gourd boy stories, some parts of this god-myth combo would definitely make them laugh their heads off.

He could not—could not—become the butt of their jokes!

"This mythology would be boring to modern people.

Keep it within the world.

Don't bring it into the group chat,"

Souta warned her.

Then he glanced out the window:

"Come on, let's go poach some traitors from the Revolutionary Army."

As he said that, a sudden thought struck him:

Wait... could you actually isekai into the Gourd Brothers' world?

Not that he wanted to—

he just really, really wanted to know...

What exactly did the pangolin say before it died!?

No, no—

he needed to stop thinking about it.

Or he'd ruin his childhood memories.

"Hold up.

Let's stop by the Patch of Peace leader's place and bring him too," Chelsea said, glancing at Souta.

She didn't rush off toward the VIP room but made the suggestion first.

Souta looked at her with a blank expression, didn't say anything, just nodded.

Chelsea shifted her gaze, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh.

After all the teasing Souta had done about her head,

she finally found a way to get some payback.

PS: Gourd and Pangolin is a reference to "Calabash Brothers"