Chapter 491: In the Darkness

Seventry knew there was no turning back now.

And honestly, he couldn’t find a better path than the one he was on.

He had read every leaflet the Cecilian forces had dropped into the city, heard the rumors spreading through the outer districts. He knew the Cecilians were promoting a nearly heretical version of the Holy Light faith—one that blurred the line between man and god. To be frank, he found much of it repugnant. Having devoted half his life to the devout worship of the Holy Light, he couldn’t accept their claim that “the Light comes from within.”

But what he found even more intolerable was how the current Church of the Holy Light had turned faith into a tool for profiteering, and the Light itself into a weapon of violence.

He had accepted Amber’s invitation and then learned in detail what he needed to do.

“We can find ways to disrupt the guards in the small chapel district and disable the magical defense arrays,” the middle-aged low-ranking cleric explained the layout of the cathedral district, “but the path to the main cathedral is beyond our control. The Order of Discipline and the Church Knights guard every gate, and they answer only to the cathedral.”

“How strong are these Order monks and knights? Do you think they’d fight to the death to protect the cathedral?”

“…The Order monks specialize in faith-based judgment and discipline magic, so their frontline combat ability isn’t strong. As for the Church Knights… they used to be the strongest defense force of the Luan Cathedral, but last time Bishop Lemont took all the high-ranking knights away, and many of the remaining mid- and low-ranking knights died fighting alongside the noble armies. Now, their combat strength is probably less than twenty percent of what it was,” Seventry said carefully. “Still… to ordinary people, they remain deadly.”

“No need to worry about that. Other forces will be entering to assist. Just give me the maps and guard details of the cathedral district.”

“Understood.”

After handing over this crucial intelligence, Seventry felt a sudden lightness, as if a great burden had been lifted. Amber, noticing the exhaustion etched into the cleric’s face from days of strain, casually asked, “If I’m not mistaken, many of the clerics in the cathedral district have experienced some degree of decline in their Holy Light powers, haven’t they…?”

Seventry’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know that?!”

“The magic used during the heresy trials doesn’t lie,” Amber shook her head slightly. “Though I suspect the spell they use to detect heresy is flawed—it probably causes most ordinary people to show signs of wavering faith. But for you clerics, who should theoretically be devout, the effect shouldn’t be so obvious. I watched each of you closely—your hesitation, surprise, panic—it was all genuine.”

Seventry fell silent. The two low-ranking priests beside him also lowered their heads, their expressions complicated. After a few seconds, one finally spoke: “…You have sharp observation skills.”

“At least a third of the clergy have experienced varying degrees of power decline,” Seventry continued. “Some have even regressed in rank. Honestly, it’s not uncommon for clerics to lose power temporarily due to moments of doubt, but a crisis of this scale is unprecedented since the founding of Luan Cathedral…”

Amber pressed on, “When did this widespread decline first appear?”

“Since the order came from the Holy Spirit Plains to collect atonement fees and suppress the worship of other gods, my Holy Light power has stagnated. Many in the cathedral district are in the same situation. We cannot accept doctrines that contradict the true teachings of the Holy Light.”

Amber blinked, murmuring thoughtfully, “So it really is like that…”

Just as Gawain had suspected, what happened to Leight was no isolated case.

The recent radical actions of the Holy Light Church had, on one hand, amassed vast wealth and rapidly strengthened the church’s power. But on the other hand, it had caused the lower-ranking clerics with conscience to question deeply. The growing rift between the original doctrine and the church’s actual behavior was creating more and more doubters like Leight. And as time went on, this problem would only worsen…

Had the Holy Light Church truly failed to notice this internal decay? Or had they noticed—and yet, for some reason, deemed it necessary to proceed anyway, even at the risk of splitting the church and losing the faith of some clergy? Was this desperate, poison-drinking approach the only way to ensure rapid growth in the short term?

Amber thought hard but couldn’t make sense of it. She shrugged it off for now—after all, she was here just to gather intelligence and cause some disruption. The real headache of analyzing these problems was for the old codger back at headquarters. She’d just report the situation and let him worry.

Seventry didn’t catch Amber’s muttering and asked curiously, “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Amber waved it off. “Let’s leave it at that for now. We’ll talk once the dust settles.”

Seventry nodded slightly. But just as he was about to leave, he suddenly seemed to remember something. “There’s one thing I should warn you about—no matter what kind of extraordinary powers you’ve prepared, be very careful of Flambrun. I think something’s off with him.”

“Flambrun?” Amber raised an eyebrow. “According to the intel, he’s just a high mid-tier cleric. If all the high-ranking southern church elites hadn’t been wiped out, he wouldn’t even be bishop.”

“He is mid-tier, but he now controls the cathedral’s core magical arrays. His true strength might be hard to gauge,” Seventry said seriously. “And since the heresy trial four days ago, he’s locked himself inside the cathedral and hasn’t appeared once. Even the leader of the Order of Discipline hasn’t been granted an audience. That’s unusual. When I prayed, the visions I received were filled with disturbing illusions and howling sounds. I sense a powerful force gathering inside the cathedral—something like the Holy Light, but mixed with something else… In short, we must be cautious.”

“…Oh man, sounds like a last-minute breakthrough is coming…” Amber muttered.

Seventry didn’t catch it. “What?”

“Never mind,” Amber quickly waved her hand. “I’ll report this to my superiors. Don’t worry, this operation is solid.”

No matter what Flambrun was up to inside the cathedral, Cecilian forces had enough strength to suppress him. At worst, they’d cause a ruckus in the outer districts, and Byron and Philip would just shell the inner city flat. When you have enough firepower to blow up priceless artworks, even the most dramatic last-minute breakthroughs won’t save you—the whole “array” would be destroyed…

Amber didn’t realize how much her thinking had been influenced by Gawain.

“Well then, I should be going,” Seventry stood and gave Amber a cleric’s salute. “Being away from the cathedral district too long might raise suspicion.”

Amber nodded. But just as the three clerics reached the door, she called out from behind, “About your declining Holy Light powers… Cecilian forces have a solution.”

To ensure the “insiders” in the cathedral district were more reliable, she decided to offer a little bait.

Seventry immediately stopped, disbelief on his face. “You’re serious?”

For clerics, loss of power due to wavering faith was usually incurable—only time or personal breakthroughs could heal it, and most never fully recovered, at best stagnating. But these Cecilians… had a way?

“It wasn’t made clear in the leaflets, but Leight did find a new path of the Holy Light. And this path… is open to everyone.”

Seventry’s eyes lit up. Nothing stirred a devout follower’s heart more than a chance to reconnect with the Light. “Are there any conditions?”

Amber thought for a moment, eyeing the three priests’ somewhat frail physiques uncertainly. “Can you lift a forty-pound warhammer?”

The three priests exchanged confused glances. “…Huh?”

“In short, start by strengthening your bodies,” Amber stroked her smooth chin thoughtfully. “Work on your endurance and resilience. Run eight kilometers a day with weight, do some manual labor. After a month or so, you should be ready to serve as a battlefield cleric…”

After the three baffled clerics left, the temporary base fell silent.

An intelligence agent looked on with admiration—not for Amber’s trick of convincing the priests to train, but for the boss’s earlier words to Seventry. “Boss, your bluffing skills haven’t declined one bit.”

Amber waved dismissively. “When have I ever gotten worse? Just that they don’t come in handy in Cecilian City.”

Nicknamed the “Tavern Queen,” Amber had once been notorious in the southern borderlands among mercenaries and adventurers, leading a gang of ruffians who ruled the streets. How could she not have a silver tongue? How could she not know how to talk the dead back to life?

Living on the wild frontier of the Ansar Kingdom, dealing with all kinds of people daily, this half-elf rogue was a master of reading people and controlling situations. Without that skill, she couldn’t have quickly grasped the situation among Luan’s lower classes or orchestrated such a large-scale disruption.

She just didn’t need to use it all the time.

“But honestly, boss, what you said earlier really sounded like the duke’s style—”

“Nonsense. I usually spend my free time catching up on sleep, not wasting time on boring stuff like that,” Amber rolled her eyes. “Most of it’s just stuff Gawain… the duke says. I just copy it when the situation fits. But you can’t just parrot me blindly. Some things have to be said to the right person. Like that cleric today—he’s a commoner, has a conscience, understands the suffering of the people, and sees the church’s darkness. He’s looking for a real way out, so what I said worked. But say the same things to someone else, and it could backfire…”

“We understand, we understand,” her subordinates nodded repeatedly. Then one asked, “So next… we contact headquarters?”

Amber nodded and looked toward the tall, thin man standing in the corner. “Skinny, open the magic network communicator, internal channel 8. Grey Wolf, guard the door.”

The small, specially made magic network communicator sat on the table. With a faint hum, the complex arcane device powered up. Amber waited patiently, watching as the crystal atop the device glowed softly and a holographic projection quickly formed above it.

It was Gawain’s face.

“The oil in the pot is boiling,” Amber grinned at the projection. “Time to flip the table.”

Gawain nodded. “Everything going smoothly?”

“As planned, things are progressing, but there are some developments that need reporting…”

Gawain listened quietly to Amber’s report, committing every detail to memory. When she finished, he let out a slight breath and looked at the communicator before him. “Understood. We’ll make arrangements here in advance. Stay safe on your end.”

Amber’s image flickered in the projection, her face full of impatience as she waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. If something really happens, do you think I’d just run away? I’m such a coward…”

Gawain could only shake his head helplessly at this coward who spoke with such unwarranted confidence, then he shut off the communication.

He then looked up toward another magical network communication device in his study.

Above that device, an outdoor scene was projected—

A vast crowd had gathered in an open field. Torches and distant magical crystal lamps lit up the night, illuminating the assembly. Angry slogans and a cacophony of voices filled the air. Uniformed peacekeepers maintained order, while several towering White Knights clad in heavy white armor stood at the center. Radiant holy light shimmered around them, and thick iron-bound scripture tomes hung from their chains at their waists. They were the most striking figures in the scene, loudly addressing the crowd.

The voice of the witch Jipri came from off-screen: “…This is New Tansang City, where excavation work continues. Thirty minutes ago, workers discovered a new cellar…

“If it weren’t for Viscount Andrew’s efforts in building this new district, these things might have remained buried forever…

“According to witness testimony, these cellars are one of the secret treasuries set up by the Holy Light Church in the southern territories. We have already found a large amount of gold and silver artifacts inside—property belonging to the faithful. Some were voluntarily donated, but a significant portion was amassed through the church’s collection of indulgences, heresy trials, confiscation of civilian assets, and seizure of other churches’ properties. From ledgers and records seized earlier from nearby churches, the local clergy promised these funds would be used to repair statues and churches, distribute disaster relief, and care for orphans. But in reality, over ninety percent became private property of the church…

“White Knight leader Sir Leight stated he has never witnessed such shameless corruption…”

After a moment, Jipri’s voice returned urgently: “Breaking news—Mayor Daedalus of Hosman City has just announced a shocking discovery. While clearing an old orphanage once run by the Holy Light Church, government workers found numerous human bones… suspected to be those of orphans missing from the Hosman region over the years…”

The crowd in the projection stirred, citizens gathering excitedly around the White Knights, who raised their heavy powered warhammers high, shouting slogans to drive out the old church.

Gawain stood and stepped forward to shut down the projection. Behind him, Pittman’s voice drifted softly: “Truly terrifying.”

Gawain turned to look at the small old man who usually wandered the territory with a cynical, shameless air, and teased, “You find something scary too?”

Pittman stroked his beard and replied calmly, “Of course. There are many things I fear. Otherwise, who do you think trained Amber to be so quick on her feet?”

Gawain glanced at him. “So what are you afraid of now?”

“People. A crowd burning with rage is a terrifying force,” Pittman shrugged. “But I think you’re even scarier—because all this is your doing. You’re wielding a power different from supernatural abilities or firearms. Its effects… are far more chilling than you initially described.”

“Power itself isn’t good or evil; it depends on how you use it. Sometimes, to deal with those who abuse the Holy Light, you have to use extreme measures,” Gawain said calmly, his expression darkening slightly. “Especially after learning that children’s remains were found in those facilities… I knew no matter what I did to those fanatics, it wouldn’t be too much.”

Pittman sighed. “Raising orphans indoctrinated from childhood is a common tactic among churches to cultivate loyal fighters—it boosts strength and reputation. But not all children are spiritually gifted. Some have no trace of talent, and no amount of potions or rituals can change that. As for those ‘bad seeds’ who are useless, drain resources, and have glimpsed the church’s dark secrets… no church’s hands are clean.”

“Seven hundred years ago, churches were nothing like this,” Gawain shook his head. “Those priests and knights who charged into the mutated horrors probably never imagined their successors would fall so far.”

Pittman chuckled. “Did you ever imagine waking up one day to find the mutants at your doorstep—and your descendants had lost your shield?”

Gawain shot him a glare. “…Don’t bring that up, or I’ll get mad.”

He cleared his throat and steered the conversation back. “Putting that aside, what do you make of the strange situation in Flamberon Amber reported? The bishop locked himself inside the cathedral—is he somehow drawing power to strengthen himself?”

“I don’t think he’s gaining strength by absorbing power—that’s a sorcerer’s method. But something’s definitely off. A normal bishop wouldn’t just lock himself away and do nothing. He’d either try to salvage the situation, flee, or come out to brutally suppress the unrest. In any case, he’d do something.”

Gawain shook his head slightly. “In my original plan, Flamberon was supposed to take a desperate gamble at this stage. I didn’t expect him to just lock himself in and do nothing. Honestly… it’s thrown off my arrangements a bit.”

Pittman pondered for a moment, then spoke with his theological insight: “Perhaps… he’s trying to communicate with the divine, praying for unimaginable power to help him through this desperate moment.”

“Divine manifestation?” Gawain frowned. “Can he even do that?”

“Precisely because it’s unlikely, I’m puzzled. Divine manifestation demands a high price and strict conditions—only legendary figures can survive it. High-level practitioners can perform brief manifestations after sacrificing part of their life and meeting certain criteria. But lower-ranking clergy… they don’t even have the ability to communicate with their deity. Their prayers don’t reach divine ears. Who would he be manifesting to?”

Gawain thought for a full two minutes before breaking the silence. “In any case, we’ll need to arrange more ‘safeguards’ in the next phase. Now that we’ve come this far, there can be no mistakes.”

Not everyone understood Gawain’s obsession and caution in this matter. Only he knew—

In this world, where supernatural powers exist and society has stagnated, this would be the first time ordinary people rose up against the supernaturals.

Perhaps peasants had once raised pitchforks against knights, or innocent accused heretics had cursed their judges, but those were isolated, powerless acts that stirred no real change.

This time, for the first time, the long-deceived and exploited common folk were rising collectively to resist the clergy as a unified force.

The world had waited centuries for this moment. And if it failed, no one knew how long it would be before the next.

So it could not fail.

(End of chapter)