The Bishop rested his fingers on the armrest.
His dark gold eyes lingered on Jiang Lin for several breaths, like a man weighing the importance of a matter.
“However...”
He finally spoke the second half of that sentence.
“...you have only just broken through, and taking consecutive missions is not conducive to solidifying your foundation. Stay in Shadow City for the next half month; there is no need to accept new field missions.
“You do not need to attend regular classes at Candidate Hall either. I will have someone deliver some internal materials to your lodging, and you can take this time to familiarize yourself with the church's mid-level sacrifice process.”
Jiang Lin raised his eyes slightly, revealing a well-measured hint of confusion, but did not press further, merely responding with a “Yes.”
After stating there was “no need to accept new field missions,” the Bishop picked up that cup of dark tea again, took a sip, and set it down, the bottom of the cup making a soft clatter against the wooden tabletop.
“After you return, someone will deliver the materials to your residence over the next two days. It will be a thick stack, enough to keep you occupied for a while. Once you finish reading, write a summary and submit it. It doesn't need to be long, just two pages.”
Jiang Lin nodded, stood up, and walked toward the door.
When he stepped out of the cathedral's side entrance, the afternoon sunlight slanted across the stone steps.
He stood beneath the porch for a moment, stretching his chest, which felt slightly tight from the heavy scent of incense in that room, before making his way back along the street.
By mid-afternoon, footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate.
Jiang Lin pushed open the door and stepped out to see a young handyman in a short gray jacket squatting by the entrance, a wooden chest half the height of a man resting at his feet.
Seeing Jiang Lin emerge, the handyman stood up and brushed the dust from his hands.
“The Deacon had me deliver this. Sign here.”
Jiang Lin took the charcoal pencil handed to him, scrawled the name “Drake” across the delivery slip attached to the crate, then lifted the wooden chest and carried it back into his room.
The crate was heavier than it looked, packed tightly with thick parchment volumes and several bundles of old maps tied with hemp rope.
He closed the door, sat at his desk, untied the rope, and took out the booklets one by one.
The booklets had no titles on their covers, bearing only the twisted runic insignias unique to the secret cult. Turning the pages revealed dense, handwritten script sprawling across the yellowed parchment—neat, yet with thin, delicate strokes characteristic of someone who spent years hunched over a desk copying manuscripts.
Jiang Lin flipped through the first volume from beginning to end.
The difference between the mid-level sacrifice process and the low-level one lay primarily in the “direction” and “diversion” of the offerings.
A low-level sacrifice was purely about converting the offering's life force and magic into energy to feed back into the sacrificer.
The mid-level sacrifice, however, included an additional step:
Before conversion, the offering's soul attribute had to be “matched” with one of the Four Pillar Gods, imbuing the sacrificial energy with a specific inclination to yield a more targeted feedback.
For example, offering a sacrifice to the Lord of Plague resulted in feedback inclined toward physical resilience and resistance.
Offering to the Lord of Fear leaned toward mental interference and psychological suppression.
Offering to the Lord of Pain made the feedback of magic essence more violent and destructive.
Offering to the Lord of Pleasure leaned toward recovery and sensory enhancement.
Jiang Lin read through this section twice before jotting down a few brief notes in his notebook.
Rather than rushing to memorize those convoluted matching procedures and runic variations, he first sorted out the structural framework of the entire booklet before carefully reading it section by section.
At dusk, he lifted his head from the text to find the evening twilight painting the entire sky in a dark orange hue.
Closing the booklet, he stood to stretch his stiff neck, then pushed open the door and walked out.
The Big Guy was squatting by the well in the corner of the courtyard, holding a coarse ceramic bowl filled with cold barley porridge. Seeing Jiang Lin come out, he raised his bowl slightly in greeting, then spoke in a casual tone:
“Someone came by this afternoon.”
“Who was it?”
“From the cathedral. They brought a basket of vegetables, saying the Lord Bishop ordered supplemental provisions.” The Big Guy scooped up a spoonful of porridge and shoved it into his mouth. “Left it by the door and left. I didn't let anyone in.”
Jiang Lin nodded, walked to the well to wash his hands, and sat down on the stone step beside him.
The two sat quietly in the twilight, the distant silhouette of the cathedral's spire gradually turning into a dark gray outline against the fading sky.
Over the next few days, Jiang Lin spent most of his time absorbed in those booklets.
The mid-level sacrifice process was more intricate than he had anticipated, involving more than twenty runic variations, each with subtle differences in its corresponding matching method and energy flow.
He read from morning till evening each day, occasionally practicing the opening stances for drawing those runes in the open courtyard.
On the evening of the fourth day, just as he closed the back cover of the final volume, someone knocked on the courtyard gate.
He went to open the door and found the old-robed man standing outside.
In the dusk, his figure seemed on the verge of melting into the shadows behind him, with only his eyes gleaming with a faint, dark luster as they settled on Jiang Lin.
“The Lord Bishop sent me to check on your progress.”
Jiang Lin stepped aside to clear the doorway.
“I just finished reading them. I'll finish writing my thoughts tomorrow.”
The old-robed man did not enter, lingering outside the threshold as his gaze swept past Jiang Lin's shoulder to take in the open booklets on the desk, before pulling back.
“Faster than I expected. Good that you finished; there will be other materials sent over in a couple of days.”
He paused, as if recalling something, and added with casual nonchalance:
“Right. When you went to the mine to deal with those three demons earlier, did you come across anything unusual? For example... residual runes, or anomalous auras?”
Jiang Lin's heart did not skip a beat, nor did his breathing waver.
Maintaining the subtle fatigue appropriate for someone who had just finished hours of reading, he answered in an even tone:
“Nothing special. Deep in the mine, there was a stone chamber containing the wreckage of a small altar, but it had been decommissioned for a long time, and the runes were completely weathered. I didn't find anything else.”
The old-robed man nodded slightly without pressing further.
“Alright. Carry on, then.”
He turned and walked back the way he had come, his pace neither hurried nor sluggish, resembling a shadow swallowed by the night.
Jiang Lin stood at the door for a moment, waiting until that presence had receded into the distance before shutting the door and returning to his desk.
That brief exchange confirmed two things for him:
First, the old-robed man did not doubt his claim of finding “nothing unusual”—or at least, he had not shown any doubt then and there.
Second, the Bishop cared quite a bit about how fast he went through the materials, which meant new arrangements were likely on the horizon.
Early the next morning, Jiang Lin spent half a shichen writing out the two-page reflection. His handwriting was neat without being overly pristine, and the content stayed strictly conventional.
He summarized the applicable scenarios for several primary runic variations, accompanied by a rudimentary understanding of directional sacrifices, without digging too deeply.
Folding the papers, he prepared to deliver them to the cathedral in the afternoon.
However, before he could leave, someone arrived before him.
When the courtyard gate was knocked on, he assumed it was a servant sent to collect the materials.
Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a young man in a dark red short robe.
The man had an ordinary face and an average build, with a palm-sized dark token hanging from his leather belt, engraved with the unique insignia of a secret cult bishop.
“Drake?” the man spoke in a low voice. “The Lord Bishop wants you to head over immediately. A guest wishes to see you.”
Jiang Lin asked no questions. He nodded, pulled the door shut behind him, and followed the man along the street toward the cathedral.
Passing through the side door, walking down the corridor, and ascending three flights of stairs, he noticed an additional presence in the hallway that was not usually there. It was not particularly overpowering, yet it carried an unfamiliar quality—frigid and restrained, as though its presence were deliberately confined within a set perimeter.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he saw that the Bishop was not alone in the room.
The Bishop still sat in his broad chair against the wall, his dark gold eyes resting on the person entering as always.
Opposite the Bishop sat a gaunt, middle-aged man in a deep, dark green robe.
The man had sharp, angular features and a short beard on his chin. His hair was dark gray, combed back neatly.
His hands rested flat on his knees, his fingers slender, with fine, faint scars visible across the knuckles, resembling old marks left by some sharp blade.
The dark green robe bore no cult insignias, only a simple pattern embroidered in dark thread at the collar.
Jiang Lin's eyes lingered on that collar pattern for a split second.
He had seen that symbol in those booklets.
It belonged to an “Envoy” of the church.
Someone specifically responsible for transmitting information and coordinating operations across the church's various controlled territories.
Their status was above that of an ordinary deacon, yet they did not fall under the Bishop's direct jurisdiction, serving more like independent liaisons dispatched by the church's upper hierarchy.
“You are Drake?” the man spoke, his voice somewhat raspy, bearing the low, deliberate rhythm of someone accustomed to speaking at length. “The Bishop says you recently completed two overseas missions, dealing with more than one group of targets.”
Jiang Lin stood two paces inside the door, lowering his head slightly without answering.
The man did not wait for a reply either, merely nodding to himself before turning to the Bishop:
“I just need to take a look at him.”
The Bishop inclined his head slightly, offering no objection.
The man rose from his chair and walked over to Jiang Lin.
Though half a head shorter than Jiang Lin, standing at a distance of two paces made that restrained sense of pressure all the more palpable.
He circled half of Jiang Lin, sizing him up like a piece of merchandise, before stopping directly in front of him, his gaze locking onto his eyes.
“Before joining the church, you spent time in the Saintas Kingdom.”
“Yes,” Jiang Lin answered. “Clearwater City.”
“Ran over here after getting into trouble?”
“Killed a tax collector.”
The man did not look away, yet seemed to have confirmed something from Jiang Lin's answer, nodding slightly. Then he stepped back half a pace and turned to the Bishop:
“I won't take him with me. Let him stay with you, but if my side needs manpower, I will draft him from your department.”
The Bishop tapped his fingers gently against the armrest:
“Agreed.”
The man said nothing more, turning and walking toward the door. As he passed Jiang Lin, his steps paused for less than a breath, as if stealing an extra glance, though he uttered not a word.
The heavy wooden door shut behind him. The sound of receding footsteps echoed from the corridor, followed by the creak of the stairwell door turning on its hinges, before everything lapsed back into silence.
Only Jiang Lin and the Bishop remained in the room.
Leaning back in his chair, the Bishop kept his dark gold eyes fixed on the doorway as though verifying the man was truly gone, before finally shifting his gaze to Jiang Lin:
“He is an Envoy from the Eastern Diocese who occasionally visits Shadow City to deliver letters. Today, he was merely passing through and stopped by to look at you.”
Jiang Lin remained standing where he was, maintaining a slightly bowed posture.
After a moment of silence, the Bishop continued:
“Your name has been recorded. There is an internal registry within the church; those on it are monitored by the Envoys of each diocese, and when suitable missions arise, they receive priority consideration.
“I won't bother reading your summary. The fact that you digested all that material in a week proves you were genuinely studying it.”
Jiang Lin:
“...”
...
In the days that followed, the rhythm of Jiang Lin's life did not change much.
The Bishop did not assign him any new field missions. He spent most of his time at his residence perusing those booklets on the mid-level sacrifice process, occasionally visiting the cathedral's side courtyard to submit a brief progress report.
After the Envoy's visit, the frequency of the old-robed man's surveillance dropped even further.
From at least two or three times a day initially, it gradually dwindled to once a day, and later to once every other day.
The sensation of being watched grew fainter and fainter, as though the cult's upper echelon had downgraded their interest in “Drake” from “requires close observation” to “just occasionally check that he's still around.”
Jiang Lin also took advantage of this time to completely digest the remaining power from Withered Bone's sacrifice.
His 5th-Rank mid-stage realm was thoroughly solidified. The sphere of gold-red liquid magic essence in his dantian was even more concentrated than when he had first broken through, circulating with virtually no resistance.
His combat prowess improved by another notch; though his rank had not risen, his foundation was far firmer than before.
After the half-month rest period concluded, the gray-robed deacon sent someone with a new task list.
The list was not long, detailing five or six minor tasks, all concerning affairs around the perimeter of Shadow City:
Inspecting several church-controlled warehouses, escorting a batch of supplies to an adjacent town, verifying a report on cross-border personnel movements...
Jiang Lin reviewed each item. None of these tasks were difficult, making them ideal for a Holy Son candidate who had just broken through to the 4th-Rank early stage to accumulate experience and prove himself.
He completed the tasks one by one in order.
His performance could not be called dazzling, but it was remarkably dependable; every task was turned in on time without a single mistake.
Whenever the gray-robed deacon received his reports, he would nod curtly and jot down a few notes in the ledger.
Half a month passed, and Jiang Lin's identity as “Drake” had established a firm, unshakable foothold in Shadow City.
The probation period following a preparatory candidate's promotion to official status had passed; he was now regarded as an ordinary official member, no longer requiring periodic assessments or background checks.
The old-robed man ceased appearing altogether, and the patrols from the cathedral dropped from daily visits to once every three to five days.
One afternoon at the start of the third month, Jiang Lin had just returned from turning in a report.
He had just sat down on the stone steps by the courtyard gate when the Big Guy poked his head out from next door and waved at him.
...
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