The window was open, and in the night-lit bedroom, a gentle breeze lifted
the floor-length curtains as if gentle hands were caressing the room. Randes
lay on his side, seeing the moon hanging high on the treetops outside.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes unusually bright, as if he had
just returned from a hunt. The lingering excitement from the hunt made it
difficult for him to sleep, even though he hadn’t actually hunted today, and
dinner was simple, lacking the sweaty thrill of deer blood that would keep him
awake.

The priest had been called away by a monk; a farmer’s son had fallen
seriously ill, and the priest had to go pray for the child, to wrest control of
that small life from death’s grasp.

So that damned priest, after his long string of speeches, irresponsibly
left.

Randes almost followed him. At the crucial moment, he restrained himself,
not completely losing his senses to temptation.

Yet even as night fell, the priest had not returned to the monastery.

Randes was unwilling to admit that he had done nothing all day, his mind
restless, all for the sake of waiting for a hypocritical, greedy, ambitious
priest! From day to night! Acting like a country bumpkin in love, waiting
downstairs to court a girl!

“He’s just stumbled upon it. Spending too much time in the capital, he
babbles nonsensically, hoping to strike it rich by chance.”

“Perhaps he speaks such nonsense to anyone of even slight
importance.”

“It’s not impossible. People in the clergy like to boast; they even
claim to hear God speaking in their ears! But everyone should know there’s no
God in this world, which is enough to prove that everyone in the clergy is a
natural-born liar.”

“If I truly believed his nonsense, I’d be falling into his trap,
playing right into his hands.”

Randes tossed and turned, his mind buzzing like a hive of bees playing a
symphony, making it nearly impossible for him to fall asleep.

“Bill—” the prince bellowed.

His loyal servant, hearing the shout from downstairs, hurriedly ascended
with a candlestick. “What’s wrong, my lord?”

Randes, wearing deep red silk pajamas, the moonlight casting a fierce glow
on his face, only his servants and the blind wouldn’t be frightened away by
this sight.

Randes said, “Has the priest returned?”

Bill was somewhat surprised by the sudden concern of the prince for the
priest. “I haven’t heard the priest’s footsteps upstairs.”

Randes frowned, looking somewhat perplexed and hateful. Bill asked, “My
lord, are you waiting for the priest?”

“No!”

Randes realized he denied it too quickly, then added somewhat stiffly,
“I just asked casually. Alright, Bill, go downstairs and sleep. There’s
nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, my lord,” Bill turned to leave with the candlestick, then
turned back, considerately asking, “Should I notify you if the priest
returns?”

As soon as the words were spoken, Bill felt he might have misjudged; the
prince’s face seemed even more fierce, yet his voice remained calm, “Go
back to your sheep pen and sleep.”

Before the prince erupted in anger, Bill hurried downstairs.

Randes angrily lay back down.

The monks in the monastery advocated asceticism, so the food there was
plain, and the beds were not very comfortable. Randes blamed his insomnia on
the uncomfortable bed, not the young priest who had disturbed his mind.

Despite a sleepless night, Randes showed no signs of fatigue. If you ignored
the scars on his face, he was a remarkably spirited man. He descended the
stairs with his cane as if wielding a scepter, striding arrogantly through the
simple and quiet monastery, like a king inspecting his domain.

Another monk in the monastery received the prince and took him to dine with
the monks.

Bill thought the prince would be angry. Although the prince never behaved
like a noble gentleman, in reality, he lived extravagantly, sparing no expense
in his material enjoyment.

To Bill’s surprise, the prince calmly finished this very humble breakfast
with the monks, even showing decent manners in front of them.

After breakfast, Bill couldn’t help but ask, “My lord, are you really
determined to believe in God?”

Randes picked up his cane and walked out without looking back. “Don’t
say such ridiculous things.”

He only did this to prove his self-control. If he wished, he could also put
on a false mask for the clergy he despised. He didn’t like being a hypocrite;
he preferred straightforwardness and facing things head-on. But that didn’t
mean he would lose to that guy in playing tricks.

*

Another day passed, and the priest still hadn’t returned to the church. Randes’
ambitious idea of confronting him gradually faded with time. He wondered if the
priest was indeed a clever fellow. After saying such provocative words, he
disappeared for two days without a word. Was he forcing Randes to seek him out
for a conversation?

Thinking that he had unwittingly fallen behind in this confrontation, Randes
felt uncomfortable. He had to calm down and be patient.

Unpleasant news came from the palace again. King Yarlin wanted Randes to
return to the palace, firstly to visit his critically ill brother, Sharman, and
secondly, to learn to dance and prepare for the upcoming ball.

Randes was sitting in a chair reading a book, holding the thick pages with
both hands. He bluntly said to the palace messenger, “Whether Sharman
lives or dies, I don’t care. He hates me, and I hate him. People who hate each
other don’t suddenly become loving just because of death. As for dancing,
thanks for your concern. I’m a pitiful cripple who can’t learn those
moves.”

The palace messenger was obviously at a loss for words in the face of Randes’
brutal honesty and left with a pale face. When only the master and servant
remained, Bill suggested, “Lord Sharman has always had a bad relationship
with you. I support your decision not to visit him. It’s better to avoid any
idle gossip at this critical moment, which would be even more detrimental to
you. But as for dancing, you really should learn. Since you’ve returned to the
capital, you should adapt to its social life. If you can’t dance, your social
life in the capital will be difficult.”

Randes lowered his head, flipping through the pages of the book. “Do I
need socializing?” His lion-like eyes emitted a mocking and arrogant
light. “It’s they who need to please me, not me who needs to perform to
attract their attention. Sharman is good at dancing, but his defeat by the
revolutionaries won’t win him much applause in the social scene.”

Randes closed the thick pages of the book, interrupting Bill’s further
persuasion with this decisive action. “Alright, let’s end this topic
here.”

Bill knew that once the prince made a decision, it was difficult for others
to sway him, so he chose to remain silent.

This little episode stirred up the calm mood that Randes had just managed to
achieve. He paced around the room, took out his hunting rifle from his luggage,
and wiped it several times. He then asked Bill to fetch paper and a pen for him
to sit by the window and draw.

He couldn’t stop for a moment, which made his restlessness almost impossible
to conceal. The curious and worried looks from his servant made him even more
irritable. Finally, after drawing some strange shapes on the paper, Randes
threw down the pen and paper. His action of discarding them was as vicious as
if he were throwing them into a bonfire. At the same time, his tone was equally
harsh. “Bill, prepare the carriage. I’m going out.”

The carriage wheels rattled swiftly on the streets of the capital. The
carriage driver’s technique was neat and rough, very much in the style of the
prince. Soon, the carriage arrived near the Colby district of the capital.

Colby was a famous poor district in the capital. Two days ago, Bunier
accompanied Father Eugene here to pray for a poor child.

The child, for some reason, had been lively just a few days ago. But the
night before last, after returning home, he began to have a fever, vomiting,
convulsions, and delirium. His father was helpless and couldn’t afford the
expensive medical expenses, so he could only hope in the respected Father
Eugene.

“Eugene, I beg you, convey our voices to God and ask Him to bless Jean,
not to let the Grim Reaper take away our beloved little Jean.”

The reason Eugene became the priest of Esburg at a young age was all thanks
to his usual efforts. He was always willing to show his love for everyone,
especially the poor. Clever and cunning, Eugene realized that the faith of the
poor was easier to obtain than that of the rich. So, he exerted great effort to
win over the poor to spread his reputation. He had indeed succeeded, but at the
same time, he couldn’t shake off these people and could only reluctantly
continue to appease them.

Mo Yin strongly resonated with the psychology of the characters.

To be honest, Eugene and his personality matched quite well with him, making
him feel exceptionally smooth. The difference was that Mo Yin’s ambitions were
even stronger than Eugene’s desire to make a little money.

The critically ill child had a pale face, swollen eyelids, and cracked lips,
but Mo Yin couldn’t see any of that. What he “saw” was only a faint
energy.

Dipping his fingers into the holy water brought out from the church, the
priest knelt on the ground in prayer, while the child moaned in pain.

The child’s parents knelt devoutly beside him, praying earnestly, hoping to
contribute in any small way they could.

After a night passed, Jean still convulsed occasionally, his emaciated belly
trembling continuously.

Bunier brought a bowl of water and fed it to Jean. His lips were tightly
pursed, and the water slid slowly down his lips.

Seeing this, the couple trembled and huddled together, tears streaming down
their faces as they cried out, “Jean, please, God, please…”

Bunier couldn’t help but show a sorrowful expression. God blessed everyone,
but everyone had their fate. Little Jean might be going to meet God soon.

Bunier looked at the still-praying priest.

The priest held a crucifix in his left hand, his fair and beautiful face
radiating a holy and gentle light. He lowered his head, holding little Jean’s
burning hand in his right hand.

The priest hadn’t given up yet.

Bunier felt a surge of strength in his chest and said to the desperate
couple, “We will keep Jean here. The priest will tell God how good a child
he is and let him continue to grow and become a healthy young man on
earth.”

Such a guarantee was unfounded, purely based on Bunier’s blind worship of
their priest.

A miracle really happened.

Jean woke up for a short time. He drank some water and ate some cheese.
Although he still looked sickly, he seemed to have escaped from the edge of
death.

The priest’s face appeared somewhat pale, and the happy and grateful couple
brought the priest the best food in their home. After eating a bit, the priest
said, “We must continue to fight.”

Indeed, after a while, Jean began to vomit again. The priest was by his
bedside, his black robe splattered with filth. Bunier anxiously called out
“Father,” but the priest simply embraced the vomiting and trembling
child in his arms. He kissed the crucifix in his hand and placed it in Jean’s
palm, whispering, “God bless you.”

The poor couple began to cry in fear again, and Bunier became nervous as
well, trying to comfort them as best he could.

The priest still held Jean, and from his expression, Bunier could see that
the priest was determined to let this child live. A strong sense of shock
surged in his heart.

Mo Yin did want this child to continue living.

Since the protagonist could reinforce the world with energy, why couldn’t he
use his own spiritual power?

The energy in this child was about to dissipate, but a net-like spiritual
force forcibly gathered the energy floating in the air around the child.

He was resisting the will of the world’s laws.

If the protagonist could do it, there was no reason why he couldn’t.

“Jean,” the priest’s voice was extremely gentle yet powerful,
“Come back, come back to the people who love you.”

In the slums where sewage flowed, the tip of the cane fell to the ground,
splashing a bit of mud. The man’s dignified posture and peculiar appearance
combined, causing passersby to avoid him. Bill occasionally shielded the prince
from the sewage. “Be careful, Your Highness.”

Randes didn’t mind. He strode forward, his face still full of an arrogant
air that made him appear dignified wherever he went.

“Look at this place,” Randes said, “The revolutionaries
haven’t reached the capital yet, but I really despise them.”

Bill lowered his voice. “Your Highness, you are a member of the royal
family.”

Randes sneered. “I’m paying for their stupidity.”

Bill shrugged. “You are wealthy, so you always foot the bill for
everything.”

Randes arrived at the door of the poor farmer’s house that the monks had
informed him of—a house so poor that it couldn’t afford anything, just a small
wooden shack with leaks everywhere, so low and small that someone as tall as he
needed to bend slightly to enter.

Randes didn’t go in but watched from the door.

The dimly lit room was cluttered with miscellaneous items. The young priest
cradled a dirty and pale child, whose thin fingers grasped the priest’s golden
locks dangling over his face.

“Jean—”

“Oh God, thank God, thank you, Father—”

“Thank you, Father Eugene, thank you for saving our little Jean—”

The excited couple knelt on the ground, kissing the priest’s robe corners
incessantly, tears streaming down their faces. Bunier moved to support the
couple, while also encouraging them, “God heard the voice of the
priest!”

“It was your piety that made God hear your prayers.”

The priest’s voice seemed to soften, then he gently turned his beautiful
face outward. “Your Highness?”

Randes was sure he hadn’t revealed himself. He didn’t know how this blind
priest had discovered his presence. He subtly turned his head and saw his
servant making cross gestures toward the inside of the house.

Damn.

The tricks of the Church always managed to deceive people.

Randes gave his foolish servant a cold, sideways glance, then picked up his
cane and bent to enter. In this tiny room, he looked like a giant. The priest’s
“Your Highness” made the couple look extremely surprised, staring at
the strange-looking man before them.

“My dear Father,” Randes’s head almost touched the roof.
“Have I had the good fortune to witness a miracle?”

Bunier, well acquainted with the prince’s character, immediately sensed the
irony in his words and felt his face burning. “Your Highness, please
maintain basic respect for the priest who tirelessly prays for the sick day and
night!”

Randes looked indifferently at the child in the priest’s arms, reached out,
and touched Jean’s face. The lingering warmth under his touch softened his
cynical expression slightly.

Is this child really sick? Or is this a poorly staged play?

Randes looked at the priest, whose face remained calm. “Your Highness,
did you sleep well last night?”

Randes’s face tensed slightly, about to make a retort, when suddenly there
was a sound of vomiting beside him. His gaze swept over, and Bill, his face
flushed, was trembling and vomiting.

“Oh my god! Brother Bunier! What’s wrong with you?”

The Turner couple panicked and supported the monk. Bill vomited, his limbs
involuntarily twitching. He immediately realized what was happening and, like a
lost child, desperately reached out to the priest. “Father…”

His outstretched palm was harshly struck open by the tip of the cane—

Randes grabbed the back of the priest’s robe and pulled him up, letting the
child in his arms roll down. His deep brown eyes emitted a stern light.
“Damn it, this is contagious!”