Compared to the massive damage done to the gods by the "Stealing the Priesthood" trait, its buff to self is not very remarkable.

At least for the current Townessen, the role is not particularly large.

After all, what can be stolen is only a priesthood, and it is random, if it is a priesthood that has nothing to do with Tang Sen itself, not only may not produce divinity, but this priesthood will also disappear directly.

The best way to use this one-time trait is to steal the priesthood of a god whose priesthood is highly overlapping with oneself after you have become a deity, so that you can take the opportunity to completely plunder the influence of the priesthood.

"Still. I'm afraid I won't be able to wait that long. ”

Townsend thought of the unspeakable deity that had stared at him.

"This is a great thing, for such an being, it loses the divinity of a priesthood. It must be very uncomfortable. ”

At the very least, he has some counter-ability against that god.

"So. It's time to head to a new world. ”

Tang Sen didn't plan to change his plan, it wasn't long before he left Faerun, and when he didn't go back, choosing to open up a new world of heavens was the way to maximize his interests.

"I hope the unknown heavens will bring me some surprises."

"Pow, pop, pop, pop"

The rhythmic grinding sound repeated in Townsend's ears, and Townsend opened his eyes to see that he was lying on the cold ground.

There was a strong smell of blood all around.

Tang Sen first looked towards the source of the sound, and saw a short back figure standing in the dimly lit room, in front of him was a dark red table, on which was a thick board with countless knife marks, and next to it was a whetstone, a polished pig-killing knife rhythmically scratched on the whetstone.

"A butcher."

The butcher was naked, his tendons covered in sweat, and he wore a pair of coarse wide-legged trousers.

The room was lit with only a few oil lamps, and there were no windows or vents other than a closed door, so that the smell of blood was disgusting. Townsend looked at the source of the smell of blood other than the board—

Next to the brick walls were rows of shelves with bloody raw meat, half of a pig's head with an iron hook through its nostrils, and half of an arm hanging next to it.

Tang Sen's eyes narrowed slightly.

It's human hands.

He withdrew his gaze and looked down at himself.

He was wearing a set of tunics that were dirty and no longer visible in their original color, and seemed to be a rough garment made by folding a piece of coarse cloth and cutting a hole in the center of the fold, and underneath was a pair of black trousers with bare feet.

A greasy, bloodstained rope trapped his hands and feet.

"Judging by the costumes, this world is not very civilized, and even more primitive than the Pirates of the Caribbean world. Middle Ages? ”

The butcher seemed to hear the movement from Townsend and turned his head.

The lower half of his face was completely hidden by a thick beard, and his hair was messy and even covered his eyes, and only the fierce light in his blue eyes could be seen in the gaps, and the nose that was extraordinarily large because of the contrast of hair.

"Are you awake?" His voice was hoarse and deep, and his tone seemed to be chatting about everyday life: "You weren't lucky enough to end it all in your sleep." ”

He rubbed the pig-killing knife on the top of his pants and said, "But don't worry too much, my knife sharpens quickly, and it's over in a flash." ”

"Where is this?" Tang Sen didn't act rashly, just asked, but he quickly shook his head again: "Forget it, another way." ”

There's no need to waste time.

Townsend stood up, the ropes of his hands and feet snapping unhindered.

"You—" The butcher was startled, but his expression quickly became foggy.

"Is this an ordinary person?" Townsend whispered, then asked, "Who are you?" ”

"Nicholas." The butcher replied sporadically: "I am a butcher." ”

"Butcher?" Townsend glanced at the suspicious meat on the shelf.

"The bad ones are sold to the market, and the good ones are sent to the castle." The butcher replied, "The nobles are willing to pay a good price."

Townsend didn't ask which meat was bad and which was good. It's easy to tell.

"What is this place?"

The butcher showed a puzzled expression and hesitated for a moment: "My basement? ”

"Place names? Country? ”

"Segovia!" The butcher hurriedly replied: "This is Segovia, a territory ruled by a great king. ”

Townsend frowned and thought for a moment, confirming that he had never heard of the place name.

However, since it is ruled by the king, his previous observation is obviously correct, and the world is still in a very backward feudal system.

Townsend asked for a few more details, but the butcher was obviously insightful, and only what little information he knew.

For example, he lived on the outskirts of the village, near the woods, and the village had no name, but he could see the castle in the distance, and the owner of the castle was the king who ruled the territory.

For example, he attacked Townsend on the road not far away, plus the slaves he had bought from someone else, and he was going to sell them to the castle after they were disposed of.

Or when it comes to the missing princess, she regrets that she never had the chance to meet the most beautiful person in the legend again.

Townsend could sense the backwardness and barbarism of the world from the words of the other party, and for this butcher, killing or cannibalism did not seem to be such a strange thing.

But if you want to understand the world better, I'm afraid you have to go to the outside world to get in touch with more information.

"So, you're useless, can you please do it yourself?"

"Of course." The butcher lifted the pig-killing knife that he had sharpened and swung at his neck without hesitation.

He wasn't lying, the knife was indeed sharp, and his technique was very sophisticated, so a head rolled straight to the ground, and blood drenched his naked, greasy upper body like a fountain.

Townsend stopped looking at him, turned and opened the basement door, and made his way up the stairs.

The basement was quiet, save for the grunt of blood, which quickly turned into an indiscernible whisper.

Then, the dead butcher's fingers suddenly moved, and the ports of his neck grew dense granulations that tugged and stretched like red ropes, connecting to the broken skull.

After a disgusting wriggling sound, the head returned to its neck.

The butcher stood up and staggered back to the table.

"Kill and sell meat."

He picked up the pig-killing knife, "Good meat. It's all good meat."

(End of chapter)