At night, it was once again time for Olovice’s joyful yet frustrating study session. Currently, he was in Father Andre’s study, learning the Krumbis script. In this world where true gods exist, whether you serve, communicate, pray, or offer sacrifices to the gods, you need to use the Krumbis script.

Before civilization developed into the industrial age, the Krumbis script was always considered the text of the gods. Writing, drawing spells, and praying with it possessed magical powers. All major orthodox religions used the Krumbis script to write their holy words, doctrines, and commandments. This meant that besides learning the Hearn language, Olovice also had to learn an additional foreign language used internally by clergy members.

Moreover, he had to understand the origins and development of various orthodox religions, their totemic representations, and their counterparts, which included heretical secret cults, demons, and witches, along with their text system, the Kabbalah script.

Under the warm yellow oil lamp, Olovice’s golden long hair was messily gathered at the back of his head, still damp with moisture. He casually cast a holy light on himself, and soon his hair was dry. “Better than a hairdryer,” Olovice muttered. His hair was exceptionally smooth after drying. He stretched lazily and looked outside. The window was wide open, and thanks to the various herbs planted in the small garden, there were no mosquitoes in the house even in summer.

The moon hung high in the night sky. The clear moonlight was like water. Compared to the red moon at the end of the month, Olovice preferred this normal moon.

“Olovice, are you wasting the power of the Holy Spirit again?” Father Andre pushed open the door and immediately saw Olovice’s head in the study. The holy light lingered on his hair, making it glow like a golden gas lamp.

Olovice chuckled twice. He stood up and walked over to Father Andre, respectfully saying, “Teacher.” He also took the tray from Father Andre’s hands. The tray contained sweet bread and a cup of warm milk, a special treat Father Andre prepared for his only student every night to replenish his energy and spirit.

Father Andre sat down and first glanced at the books on the desk. They were textbooks from the Light Cross University in Doran Finger City, written in Krumbis script, including “The Use and Shaping Techniques of the Holy Spirit: First-Level Theory,” a high school textbook. Next to it were “The Historical Evolution of Black and White Magic,” “A Hundred Common Holy Ritual Techniques,” “A Comprehensive Guide to Holy Sacrificial Texts,” “A Compendium of Magical Creatures,” and more.

Not only did he have university textbooks, but he also found the works of his deceased mentor and books he collected in his youth. It seemed he had read quite a lot.

Father Andre felt a surge of complex emotions. The Olovice he found was simply a genius, no, a genius among geniuses, with an unprecedented terrifying talent for using his own Holy Spirit and sensing the magic in the air!

Who would have thought that a year and a half ago, Olovice was still illiterate?

Father Andre watched Olovice busy at another table, slightly lost in thought. In his youth, when he learned that he was chosen by the gods to enter the clergy academy, Andre was excited and even proud. He was different from other country folks!

His entire family were devout followers of the Light Cross, and his status brought much glory to his family in the town of Letania. But when he went to the big city, Andre realized that in the talent-filled clergy academy, his talent was actually average. He spent his university years busy and unremarkable, and was then assigned to his hometown as a church priest.

This was the path for most clergy members, and he was no exception.

But he was somewhat lucky. The Black Swamp Witch in the dense forest had a good relationship with him, never harmed anyone, and there were no witches or demons around. Although the villagers had various flaws, overall, they were good, and no vengeful spirit incidents had occurred.

Over the decades, Andre dealt with a few fairy pranks, drove away a fairy from the Ainu faction, a salamander (earth fire lizard) adept at spraying poison fire and curses, mediated resident disputes, used the holy arts he learned to heal and save people, and presided over life and death ceremonies for generations of natives. He was well-loved by the residents of Letania, and he, in turn, loved his hometown deeply.

But sometimes, Andre would recall the reckless dreams he had in his youth.

Like destroying an evil human sacrifice, slaying a powerful demon, and eliminating the stronghold of the Witch Demon Society. Oh, times have changed; the Witch Demon Society was the old name, now it’s called the Black Mass.

Evil heretics, Father Andre cursed in his heart.

“Teacher, have some sunflower tea.” Olovice offered tea. The herb they grew the most in their yard was sunflowers. Olovice often dried them, mixed them with the roots of fragrant grass, and made tea bags to brew tea.

Brother Martin and Sister Hiran also loved drinking this flower tea.

Andre snapped back to reality and took a sip of the flower tea. “Olovice, although you’re still young, you must also pay attention to sleep. The night should be left to the Goddess of the Night.”

“Teacher, I’ll sleep later. I still have a question I don’t understand.” Olovice pointed to a knowledge structure point in shaping techniques and humbly asked for guidance. “How can I condense the holy light into a solid form? I mean, a real object.” He picked up a vase from the desk. “Like this vase.”

How does a light cluster become a tangible object?

This puzzled Olovice.

Currently, he was learning the lowest-level illumination technique, and there was also a growth technique called Holy Light Healing, both life-oriented holy light skills. Using the Holy Spirit power in his body, combined with divine incantations, he could cast them. But higher-level techniques like invisibility, shaping, the Sword of Radiance, and the Cross Cage were beyond his comprehension.

“Shaping is a branch of transformation. It’s not permanent, just an illusion,” Father Andre was actually pleased with Olovice’s diligent learning attitude. He explained, “True transformation is very dangerous. It’s a spell invented by highly qualified witches. Once transformed, only the caster can undo it.”

Andre extended his hand, and the holy light in his palm gradually gathered, changing into multiple forms. “You’ve just learned illumination. You haven’t fully mastered the Holy Spirit power within you, Olovice. You need to get used to it, let it become as natural as your breathing, inseparable, rather than being surprised every time you glow.”

“If you really want to learn, you can start by constructing a basic spiritual rune magic circle, stabilize your spiritual state within it, and then gradually condense it into what you want. But this process requires a high level of concentration. It must be done in one go, without interruption, or your spiritual state will collapse,” Father Andre warned.

Olovice suddenly understood. This was indeed a good method. He happily said, “Thank you for your guidance. I will work hard.”

“Teacher, you’re amazing.” Olovice was full of respect for Andre.

Father Andre chuckled twice. As a priest, he followed the old rules and didn’t marry, so he had no children. His brother’s family had moved to Montpelier and rarely returned, and family ties had gradually faded.

But Olovice calling him “teacher” filled Father Andre with a sense of affection. He never expected that in his old age, he would have a student.

And this student was so intelligent and considerate.

“In a few days, I’ll write to Bishop Ulrich in Montpelier, recommending you as the next priest of the Letania Church. If Bishop Ulrich agrees, Olovice, you’ll need to find time to go to Bishop Ulrich for a Holy Spirit test. There might also be a cultural exam. Don’t worry, as long as you study the holy scriptures thoroughly, there won’t be any problems,” Andre was already planning his student’s future. If he became a priest, even if the Letania Church merged with other areas, Olovice would have a place in other churches. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about food and drink.

Olovice felt a bit worried upon hearing this. He hesitated and said, “Teacher, I can’t remember my past. My identity…”

“When you came out of the dense forest, you lost all your memories, like a lamb lost in the world,” Andre comforted. “Don’t worry, I’ll write in the introduction letter that you’re my student, raised in the orphanage. Brother Martin and Sister Hiran will testify.”

“Thank you.” Olovice was always grateful that the first person he met was Father Andre. He was truly thankful for this kind old priest.

“Alright, read for a while longer and then sleep. Don’t stay up late,” Andre’s wrinkled face was full of smiles. He wanted to pat Olovice’s shoulder to encourage him and dispel his inner anxiety and confusion, but awkwardly, Olovice was too tall, and he couldn’t reach his shoulder.

Just as Andre was about to lower his hand, a golden head leaned over.

Olovice bent down, bringing his head under the old priest’s palm, and automatically rubbed against it.

Andre ruffled his student’s hair, still glowing with holy light, and chuckled twice. “When you get to Montpelier, do your best. I believe you can do it.”

His student was a true genius!

After Father Andre left, Olovice, full of confidence, returned to the sea of knowledge. With no worries about his identity, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his heart, making him feel particularly at ease.

“Thank you, teacher.” He habitually drew a cross and then quickly added, “Thank you, Lord.”

Father Andre returned to his room and began drafting a letter.

He suddenly looked at the windowsill.

An owl was quietly watching him.

“Andre,” the owl spoke in a young woman’s voice, filled with mockery and ridicule. “I think you’re getting senile, actually believing that deacon’s words. Yes, he appeared in my dense forest, but he was just passing through. Before that, I have no idea where he came from.”

Father Andre lay on the desk, writing the letter. His black priest’s robe was neatly and cleanly arranged, even his graying hair was meticulously combed back. His aged face wore reading glasses, and the pen dipped in ink made a rustling sound on the paper, as if he hadn’t heard anything.

The owl grew more furious. It flew to the table, flapping its wings and pacing back and forth. “Aha, not speaking means you admit it, right? Admit that you’re getting old and your mind is failing. You even gave him a name. Andre, I think you’re regressing as you age.”

“Grace, I gave you your name too,” Andre couldn’t help but say, his ears aching from the noise. Over the years, Grace’s temper had grown worse, far from the cuteness of her youth.

The owl was thoroughly ruffled. “That’s different! That young man suddenly appeared in the dense forest. I’ve lived in the forest since I was little. From the first moment I saw that kid, I knew he wasn’t simple.”

Andre stroked the owl’s feathers and said, “Olovice came out of your dense forest. If his identity can’t be separated from the forest, and if Bishop Ulrich sends someone to investigate and finds an unregistered rural witch in Letania, Grace, you’ll be locked up.”

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Father Andre said, taking out a small cookie Olovice made and feeding it to the owl.

The owl ate while grumbling, “I don’t believe it. You treat Olovice better than me.”

Father Andre felt a headache coming on.

After finishing the cookie, the owl pecked at Father Andre’s fingers. “Next time, tell that kid not to talk to the twilight fairies.”

“And don’t go near the dense forest,” the owl tilted its head, showing a human-like seriousness. “I feel like something has appeared in the forest recently, but I can’t find it.”

Father Andre also became serious. “I’ll check the forest tomorrow.”

“No need for your help,” the owl rolled its eyes. “You’re so old you can barely walk.”

“But my Bible still has power,” the old priest Andre tapped the heavy Bible on the table.

The owl flew to the windowsill, flapped its wings a few times, and said fiercely, “I said I don’t need it. I’ll handle my own affairs.”

“I care about you, Grace,” Father Andre said.

The owl left a parting remark and quickly flew away.

“Humans always like to be sentimental!”