Room 301, third floor of the Radiant Inn.

Olovice began writing a letter to his teacher, first informing him that he had been noticed by Bishop Ulrich. In a couple of days, he would be heading to Morito City with some outstanding clergy to suppress the demons, assuring his teacher not to worry as he would take good care of himself. He then recounted the events of the past few days in bits and pieces, ending the letter by asking his teacher to take care of himself, assuring him that everything was fine.

Once the letter was finished, Olovice put down his pen, placed the letter in an envelope, sealed it with wax, and planned to mail it first thing in the morning. On the desk, besides the letter, there was a brand new brass revolver, its magazine filled with rune bullets. This was a benefit for his upcoming mission to the Black Tower forbidden area, and everyone would be equipped with one.

Traveling from Montpelier to Morito City required taking a steam train, with all expenses covered by the church. Olovice touched the cold metallic sheen of the gun, weighed it in his hand, and thought about how, at the hall, if he chose to give up, the sunk cost would be too great. He had no choice. However, he consoled himself with the thought that he could at least witness the famous Black Tower demon, which would be an eye-opener.

The next morning, after mailing the letter, Olovice reported to the church with the brass revolver in hand. As a newcomer, he had to undergo training to ensure he wouldn’t hold back his teammates.

“This is a wraith, Olovice. You can draw your gun now. For beginners, wraiths are the simplest and most effective training tools. They move at lightning speed and can hide, requiring you to focus intensely to discern where they might appear and ensure they don’t ambush you.”

In the training hall, a preacher from the Radiant Church clapped his hands, and the previously empty room’s walls suddenly revealed the twisted forms of wraiths. They broke through the walls, screaming as they lunged at the young man in the center.

Olovice’s eyelids twitched. The leading wraith was almost as tall as an adult, though he had no idea how the church managed to raise them. Without thinking, he shielded himself with a light shield, drew his gun, and with a bang, the wraith’s body dissipated. The bullets in the magazine weren’t genuine demon-slaying bullets but rather a lower-grade silver version meant for training, far less powerful than the real thing.

In the next second, the dispersed wraith reformed and lunged again. After honing his aim with the gun, Olovice rubbed his ears, as the wraith’s shriek was truly unpleasant. His deep blue eyes glowed with a silver light, revealing all the wraiths under his gaze. After reloading the magazine, Olovice’s eyes flashed, and another wraith was hit by a bullet.

When the last bullet was fired, the largest wraith still mindlessly charged forward. Olovice clenched his fist and delivered a punch filled with holy light, which was much more effective than the silver bullets. The wraith screamed in unwillingness as it vanished.

Olovice looked at the observing preacher nearby. The preacher glanced at Bishop Ulrich and the head of the black-robed Judgement Office, a black knight who had been standing at the back, fully armored and helmeted, nodded slightly.

“Not bad,” Bishop Ulrich said. “Olovice, you’ll need to practice more in the next couple of days.”

The old priest pointed to his eyes with his finger. “You’re too bold, directly covering your eyes with the Holy Spirit. Aren’t you afraid of losing control of your magic? Your eyes might not survive.”

Olovice smiled. “Inspired by you, of course, it’s not as good as your True Eye.”

The old priest chuckled, looking at this young man filled with the Holy Spirit, and said nothing more. After the young man left, the old priest turned to the black knight, a hint of regret and pity in his eyes. “Does it have to be this way?”

“Samuel is almost beyond our control. It’s growing, just like us humans, from a lump of flesh to a humanoid form. As it ages, its temper becomes increasingly uncontrollable, on the verge of madness.” The black knight removed his helmet, revealing a face full of gloom, speaking coldly. “That young man is an excellent vessel for the Holy Son’s incarnation. His Holy Spirit is pure and rich, clean and flawless, capable of maximizing the Holy Son’s power to completely eliminate the demon in the Black Tower forbidden area.”

“I agree,” Bishop Ulrich said. “As the original sin body absorbing demons from all nearby cities, allowing Samuel to grow further will only bring greater disaster.”

“After eliminating Samuel, if Olovice survives and isn’t completely destroyed by the Holy Son’s descent, I’ll fulfill my promise.”

The old priest sighed. “I somewhat regret telling you about that child’s uniqueness. His Holy Spirit is indeed the purest I’ve ever seen, but now we’re hiding the cancellation of the White Dove Plan in Morito City from him. I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing.”

“The Sea God’s Horn is about to lose its effectiveness. Once the magic mirror approved from the south arrives, we’ll set off immediately. Every time we suppress demons, someone sacrifices. Using one person to exchange for the souls of many believers in the White Tower is worth it. In the last century, talented individuals were candidates for the Holy Son’s soul.” The black knight donned his helmet and strode away. “If he survives, I’ll compensate him.”

“Not telling him is also for his own good, to prevent negative emotions from hindering the Holy Son’s descent,” Bishop Ulrich said. “Eliminating the demon is our ultimate goal.”

When Olovice walked out of the Montpelier church, it was raining outside. Well, autumn was approaching, and Emile and Miss Susan would soon start school. Instead of returning to the inn, he followed the map and took a carriage to the Sunflower Gallery.

By the time he reached the Sunflower Gallery, the rain had stopped. There weren’t many visitors inside. The exhibition board highlighted the various awards and personal honors of the gallery’s founder, Master Promi. Olovice paused in front of each painting, admiring and gazing until he finally saw his own artwork.

“Spring Under the Grapevine”

Amidst a collection of famous paintings, the lively green caught the eye. Lady Borgia’s bright smile was like sunshine. Olovice smiled, recalling that the initial reason for painting this piece was for Lady Borgia’s tip, as he was quite poor at the time. Secondly, it was to befriend the influential mayor’s wife in the small town to improve his life. Thirdly, it was to practice his spoken language. He remembered Lady Borgia saying he was the most composed steward.

Upon leaving the gallery, Olovice didn’t disturb Master Promi, only casting a blessing spell on the gallery.

On the way back, Olovice bought some fruit and arrived at a house in the lower district. Compared to other crowded and chaotic slums, this house, though not as luxurious as the villas and high-end residences in the upper district, was quite decent. At least it had a yard and lawn of its own and was located in a place with streetlights.

The white fence opened, and a freckled-faced girl curiously and cautiously looked at the unexpected visitor.

“My name is Olovice, a priest steward, and I’d like to visit Mr. Brown.”

Before long, Olovice was invited into the Brown family home. Brown was recovering from an injury. As the backbone of the family, his elderly parents and younger siblings were clearly concerned about him, but Brown was in low spirits, shutting himself in the house all day. This time, a colleague from the church came to visit, bringing fresh and expensive fruit, which made the family visibly happy.

“Brown is on the second floor. He usually doesn’t let us into his room.”

Going up to the second floor, Olovice quickly found Mr. Brown’s room. Ordinary people couldn’t smell it, but another extreme stench lingered in Olovice’s nose. Sometimes, Olovice really hated his exceptionally keen sense of smell. He didn’t know if other clergy were like this or if it was just him.

Olovice knocked on the door. “Hello, Mr. Brown, I’m Olovice.”

“Come in,” a weak male voice sounded from inside.

Olovice mentally prepared himself, pushed the door open, and immediately saw Mr. Brown resting against the headboard. He appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his face pale, with his left torso and limbs wrapped in white cloth.

Brown sized up Olovice, a priest steward from the countryside with exceptionally high magical talent and Holy Spirit perception. Bishop Ulrich had almost given him full marks on his exam, making him one of the candidates for the next demon suppression mission.

“I know what you want to ask. Every newcomer asks the same, but the less you know about the demons in the Black Tower forbidden area, the better. All I can say is that it’s locked in a dark cage.” Brown coughed, and as he moved, black blood seeped from the white cloth. Brown cast a healing spell on himself, stopping the spread of the foul-smelling black blood.

“Here’s a piece of advice: never let that demon touch you. Its filth will severely harm us.” Brown’s face was full of pain.

“May I see your wound?” Olovice cast six or seven light healing spells on him.

Brown felt a bit better and took a breath. “You can, but if you get scared, I’m not responsible.”

Olovice sat by the bed, carefully unwrapping the cloth from Mr. Brown’s upper arm. These white cloth strips had been soaked in holy water. After layer upon layer was removed, Mr. Brown’s arm was revealed to Olovice.

The arm had two extremely fine, deep, and long wounds, with the entire arm’s skin torn open as if slashed by sharp, large claws, like a knife through paper, deep enough to see the bone. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal, as a high-level healing spell from a clergy member would heal it. But now, due to some contamination, the blood in the wound had turned black, constantly emerging, flowing, accumulating, and sticking in the white exposed bones, flesh, and tendons, like a living thing.

“Is it alive?” Olovice asked uncertainly.

“Not just the blood. Samuel’s severed limbs and flesh chunks have a strange blind vitality, crawling all over the place.” Brown showed a look of disgust, fear, and nausea.

“With such a severe injury, what did the church say?” Olovice rewrapped Mr. Brown’s arm with the cloth.

“As long as Samuel is killed, its blood outside will lose its vitality. Now we can only see if the next mission can kill it,” Mr. Brown said. “In the meantime, the church will send people daily to control my injury and prevent it from worsening.”

“If it really doesn’t work, we’ll have to contact the mechanics from the Church of Knowledge and Wisdom to replace my limbs. Honestly, that’s the worst outcome. Although the church will support me for life, I still don’t want to accept it,” Brown said.

Olovice understood.

“May the Holy Light bless you.”

“Mr. Brown, I have a small question for you,” Olovice said, helping Mr. Brown adjust his pillow for more comfort.

“Go ahead,” Brown said.

“Have you seen a witch in the Black Tower forbidden area? A witch who’s a hybrid of a siren and a witch, with hair that might turn into snakes,” Olovice asked.

“I’ve seen her. That witch was an external aid found by the Black Tower Baron,” Brown said. “Her siren eyes are quite useful, able to petrify small parts of Samuel’s body.”

“But as Samuel grows, her ability’s effect is getting weaker.”

“Thank you for the information,” Olovice said. This visit wasn’t entirely fruitless.