In the Infinite Worlds, I Just Want to Be the God of Wealth – CH198

Chapter 198

With the Blood King as a top-tier enforcer, the unease in Lu Chuan’s heart immediately vanished.

Heh—one Blood King was worth tens of thousands of useless weaklings. Not to mention, the Blood King had hordes of subordinates. When he eventually found his funds running short, Lu Chuan could just tell him: “Recruit one new member and you get a bonus.” That would grow things quickly.

If he relied on developing every believer himself, he’d work himself to death. It had to be believers recruiting believers—that was the true path.

[Host, you’re simply brilliant.] #888 flattered smoothly. [Other gods are always so cautious when developing believers. Who else but you could pull it off in one stroke?]

“It’s just standing on the shoulders of giants.” Lu Chuan laughed heartily. “Alright, let’s get going. If I stay here any longer, I won’t be able to stop myself from laughing, and it wouldn’t do for the Blood King to see that.”

Lu Chuan, after securing the Blood King’s allegiance, returned to reality in high spirits.

As the guildmaster of the Star Guild, he had no shortage of responsibilities.

Although many tasks no longer required his personal involvement, Lu Chuan still needed to set the overall direction, and certain key matters required his final approval.

For instance, the guild was planning to recruit five hundred new members, but tens of thousands had applied. Apart from A-rank players, who were granted automatic entry, the rest had to undergo strict trials before earning a place.

This was a major event for the guild.

Back when Lu Chuan had first debuted as a player, suddenly landing on the newcomer rankings, it had coincided with a time when the five great guilds were all recruiting.

Generally speaking, recruitment depended heavily on personal qualifications.

Any player ranked A or above was considered top-tier in any guild. So long as they weren’t involved in serious misconduct, even small mistakes would be overlooked, and they could enter without testing. For players below A-rank, however, age and potential mattered. Older players with mediocre skills were unlikely to be chosen, but younger ones who had just become players and showed promise could still get a chance, even if their level was temporarily low.

Of course, prodigies like Lu Chuan—who had entered the newcomer rankings in one shot—were courted by all the guilds. It was like being a top candidate for China’s elite universities: recruitment officers would personally visit your home.

Now that Lu Chuan was the guildmaster, the once-recruited had become the recruiter. The wheel had turned.

“Guildmaster, here—this page lists the candidates we’ve already chosen. We think they can be admitted after just a simple interview.” One subordinate handed Lu Chuan a tablet-like device. On its display were detailed profiles: photos, ages, personal skills, player levels, and more.

Since becoming guildmaster, Lu Chuan had pushed not only for economic development but also for technological progress. Technology, after all, was the ultimate productive force. He disliked how players had come to rely too heavily on powerful artifacts, neglecting science and technology.

No matter how useful tools were, they couldn’t be used at all times. Many ordinary people couldn’t use them at all. But science could overcome those barriers—something that could not be ignored.

Thanks to his efforts, the guild’s tech had advanced considerably. They had a foundation to build on, and rebuilding was always easier than starting from nothing.

“This player, [Nine-to-Nine], he’s an A+ rank. He used to be a vice-guildmaster in a mid-sized guild. Why would someone like him suddenly want to join us?” Lu Chuan pointed at a man who looked honest and dependable. “Did you check his background?”

“We did, Guildmaster,” his subordinate replied carefully. “His guild was electing a new guildmaster, and he lost. Fearing the new guildmaster might treat him poorly, he chose to leave. Also, he’s long admired you, which is why he came here.”

“Then why not the Resurrection Guild? His guild is much closer to them than to us. Unless he has teleportation tools, the journey here is long and risky. Is admiration alone enough reason to take that risk?”

The subordinate blinked, unable to answer.

“Check again.” Lu Chuan sighed. “Use your brain. These are turbulent times—he could be a planted spy.”

“Yes, Guildmaster.” The subordinate slunk away, dejected.

Just then, Starry Ming entered the office. Seeing Lu Chuan troubled brought him a certain satisfaction.

Serves you right, he thought. Who told you to compete with me for the presidency?

“Guildmaster, among the applicants, most are ordinary. But one or two stand out as… odd.” Starry Ming spoke in his usual businesslike tone.

“Sit down and explain.” Lu Chuan gestured. He wasn’t new to leadership, but this was his first time as guildmaster. He needed to adapt to subordinates of widely varying quality.

In truth, only a third of the guild members were truly reliable.

Half of the rest were barely teachable—usable, but not for anything important. The last half were classic examples of “high scores, low ability”: fine in dungeons, but hopeless at real work. They frustrated Lu Chuan so much he wanted to toss them out like garbage.

The larger the guild, the murkier the waters.

By comparison, although Starry Ming wasn’t especially respectful toward him, his strength, competence, and ability to manage others made him a valuable ally. Against his will, Lu Chuan had to admit he found Starry Ming more and more pleasing to the eye.

“This woman is strange.” Starry Ming handed over two dossiers. “She’s 33, became a player at 26. Until 32, she was mediocre—a C-ranker, the kind we’d nearly expel. But last year, her dungeon clears skyrocketed in both number and quality. She advanced from C to A in just one year. I investigated. Despite her caution, I detected divine residue in her cleared dungeons.”

“Oh?” Lu Chuan studied the file. He didn’t recognize her; she wasn’t one of his believers. That piqued his curiosity. “So what’s your take?”

“She’s either serving a god or possessed by one,” Starry Ming answered. “Here—compare her photos from 30 and 32. Her gaze, aura, and entire bearing changed completely in just two years. I suspect she has a physique similar to Messiah’s, though weaker, and something else has taken root in her.”

“Suspicious indeed.” Lu Chuan nodded. “Put her in a squad. Watch her closely.”

“This one too.” Starry Ming produced another file. “He vanished in a dungeon for five years. His family thought him dead. But he suddenly reappeared, claiming he’d just been stuck inside. He says he can’t recall the dungeon’s name. Too suspicious.”

Lu Chuan rubbed his temples. “Cases like this are piling up.”

Recently, the Resurrection Guild had reported several players possessed or mentally warped by gods, wreaking havoc before being subdued.

“Yes.” Starry Ming’s face hardened. “Ever since the [God of Wealth] appeared, gods in the dungeons have grown more active. Before, it might take a decade to see one possessed player. Now every guild has several. Likely the high-level gods, searching for this [God of Wealth], have stirred things up. The lesser gods, unwilling to be their cannon fodder, slip into players to escape into reality.”

The gods despised humans.

In reality, they were shackled by artifacts, their power diminished, further weakened by human hosts. Normally, they would never come. But when they did, chaos and death followed. Guilds therefore treated possessed players with extreme caution.

It was the same when Messiah was suspected of possession in the Noah Guild—the leadership abandoned him without hesitation.

Now the frequency of such cases was making Guildmasters go gray with worry.

Why couldn’t gods just fight their battles inside dungeons, without invading reality?

“Ahem. This is just the trend of the times.” Lu Chuan dared not reveal he was the [God of Wealth] himself. Many were blaming that very god for the unrest. It was absurdly unjust, but he couldn’t clear his name.

“Also, the [Sea Emperor], leader of Ocean’s Heart, sent word she’ll be visiting soon. No date specified. With her skills, we can’t stop her. Please be careful, Guildmaster. She’s the only Guildmaster besides you who still resides permanently in reality. Her seniority and power probably surpass yours.” Starry Ming’s warning was grim.

[She’s behind you right now, Host.] #888 muttered dryly. [Starry Ming really jinxed it—say it, and it happens.]

Lu Chuan smiled faintly. “Understood. I’ll handle it. You may leave. I have a guest to receive—don’t let anyone disturb me.”

Starry Ming froze, then quickly stood, nodded, and left, shutting the door behind him.

“I didn’t expect the [Sea Emperor] to appear so suddenly. Seems I shouldn’t speak behind people’s backs anymore.” Lu Chuan turned, smiling toward his left.

“I used a special concealment skill. Normally, no one would detect me. No wonder you’re the youngest to rise so high—you’re sharper than I thought.”

Before the words had fully fallen, a woman now sat where Starry Ming had been. She had wavy sea-blue hair, fair skin, and eyes tinged with gray.

She looked almost ageless.

Her face resembled that of a girl in her teens, yet her bearing felt like that of a woman in her thirties — and when her eyes met yours, they carried the weight of an old soul who had lived through countless experiences.

She was a woman full of contradictions.

Current guildmaster of Ocean Heart, Sea Emperor Bobona.

“Last time you took over as guildmaster, I happened to be busy, so I sent the vice guildmaster to attend on my behalf.”

Bobona smiled at Lu Chuan. “If I’d known, I should’ve come earlier. I didn’t expect the leader of the Star Guild to already be on the path toward divinity.”

“How’s the scan going, Little System?” Lu Chuan spoke quickly in his mind to #888.

[Host, this person seems to have obtained a god’s divinity and authority, but she hasn’t fused with them yet.] #888 sounded surprised. [Her body doesn’t match her soul — it feels like she shaped this body by some means. But I don’t know exactly how.]

Even after upgrading, #888 wasn’t omnipotent.

All Lu Chuan really needed to know was that she was dangerous.

He smiled faintly, “Sea Emperor, you’re not exactly ordinary yourself. Why single me out? To become guildmaster at all, one needs some ability.”

“True enough. You don’t seem to have had your will eroded by a god.”

Bobona studied him quietly.

“Your temperament is much steadier than Wen Renxu’s. I once thought he’d be the first among us to become a god — or an Executor. His talent was incredible; with enough time he could’ve surpassed the former Star Guildmaster. Pity his nature wasn’t ruthless enough. He’s probably still stuck in some dungeon now.”

Lu Chuan, of course, knew exactly what had happened to Wen Renxu — he just couldn’t say.

“Anyway, talking like this might make you suspicious of my motives.”

Bobona shook her head. “Let’s add each other as friends in the game first. There are things only the five Guildmasters can share. Maybe Wen Renxu didn’t have time to tell you — or he knew we’d come find you regardless. We’re among the strongest players in the real world; of course we must exchange information. Sometimes we even dive into game dungeons to seek out former Guildmasters; they know far more than we do.”

“When I took over, you didn’t say any of this. Were you testing me?” Lu Chuan asked, not rushing to add her.

“At least a year,” Bobona replied without hesitation. “We had to see if you could hold the seat. If you were just a figurehead and died within a year, talking to you would’ve been a waste. But you’ve grown the guild remarkably, and you don’t seem possessed by a god or allied with the Main God System. To show good faith, I came myself.”

Lu Chuan nodded, accepting the explanation, then added Bobona as a friend.

Within minutes, she pulled him into a group chat titled [Let’s Kill the Main God System ASAP].

Lu Chuan: …

That was blunt.

At least he understood now why Bobona had come.

He glanced at the group — about forty members.

Not too many, yet far from few.

Among the nicknames, he spotted Wen Renxu’s [Polaris], along with [Undying] from the Resurrection Guild and [Satan] from the Abyss Guild.

“People rarely talk there,” Bobona explained. “But if you’re confused or need a team, post it — someone may reach out. Don’t expect too much, though. More than half the members are either trapped in dungeons or evolving into Executors or gods. Many have almost forgotten their original resolve.”

“Weren’t you all planning to destroy the Main God System?” Lu Chuan chuckled. “What, can’t do it?”

“The harder we try, the more impossible it feels.” Bobona let out a derisive laugh.

“When we created this group, we thought once we stood atop the Master ranking, we’d be able to fight the Main God and end this damned game. But the more we learned, the smaller we felt. We had more courage back when we knew nothing.”

She paused, then asked,

“Tell me, do you think we master-ranked players are still human?”

Lu Chuan thought for a moment.

“Probably not.”

“Exactly.” Bobona nodded. “To reach the top, you either complete a divine-hunting quest or clear an ‘unclearable’ dungeon, fighting plenty of gods along the way. By now, the gods we’ve slain number in the dozens — maybe hundreds.

Lu Chuan considered: counting all the minor deities, he’d indeed killed more than a few.

He’d even instigated several divine wars.

“Each god we kill boosts our skills and stats. Our strength, speed, stamina — all peak beyond human limits. But have you noticed? Our lifespan never increases. We may keep a young appearance, but our years remain human. When the time comes, we’ll die anyway.”

A shadow crossed Bobona’s face. “And if we spend too long in a fast-time dungeon, we might age decades the instant we leave. You probably haven’t been in one of those yet — a single day inside can cost a month of life.”

“There are dungeons like that?” Lu Chuan asked.

“You’ll see soon,” Bobona said with a smile. “It’s the Main God’s trick — forcing us to choose. If we stay human, our lifespan drains away in those dungeons, even if we clear them. To extend life, we must abandon our mortal shell. For us, there are only two good options: become a god, or an Executor.”

“What’s the difference?” Lu Chuan asked knowingly, wanting to hear her perspective.

“To become a god, you first complete your divine-hunt quests — the Main God assigns prey suited to your path. Once you slay them, you gain their abilities; authority, though, you must develop yourself. But even then, since it’s taken by force, our rank as gods is lower than theirs. And if our sanity isn’t high enough, their will may corrupt us, turning us into vessels for their revival. So sanity is crucial.”

Lu Chuan nodded — that he knew.

“After godhood, we’re bound to the Main God, developing dungeons, harming players, or waiting for another player to kill us. Disobey, and an Executor wipes you out.” She shrugged. “Who knows how many of the gods we’ve killed were our seniors?”

“As an Executor, you don’t need to worry about sanity — but you’re under the Main God’s control at every step.” Bobona waved a hand. “And Executors compete far more savagely than players. Unless you’re desperate or your sanity’s beyond repair, becoming a god is better.”

“Other than those two, there’s also becoming an NPC, right?” Lu Chuan smiled. “Plenty of the Extreme Loan Company staff are master-ranked players.”

They did seem to be doing fine.

“Sure, that’s the third path. They couldn’t kill gods and didn’t want to risk godhood or the Executor’s fate, so they clung to gods instead.” Bobona sneered.

“But I advise against it. Serving a god might look safe, but their minds aren’t human. They could sacrifice you on a whim for power. Why be a dog when you could be a master? I’d rather be hunted as a god than a god’s lackey.”

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