He did not follow.
About half an hour later, the gray-robed instructor appeared in the courtyard of the Candidate Hall. His gaze swept through the crowd before landing on Jiang Lin.
“Drake, come here for a moment.”
Jiang Lin put down his dagger and followed the instructor through the side corridor, arriving at the small room behind the cathedral that he had already visited twice.
The Bishop was not there.
The gray-robed deacon who had inducted him into the cult sat behind the desk, with a parchment report spread out in front of him.
“The results of the investigation are in,” the deacon said, looking up at him. “Nothing unusual was found in the mine. No bodies, no blood, no residual magic essence, not even a trace of an altar.”
Jiang Lin lowered his head slightly and remained silent.
“The Bishop's stance is that since nothing could be found at the scene, the matter will not be pursued further,” the deacon said in an even tone. “However, the church has taken note of the ambush you encountered. The presence of demons in a mine controlled by the church, whether for a private deal or not, indicates a breach in our defensive line.”
He paused.
“Therefore, the Bishop has decided to promote you and Hawke to official status early. You don't have to wait until you complete seven missions.”
Jiang Lin looked up, showing a perfectly calculated touch of surprise.
“Official status?”
“Yes.” The deacon nodded. “An official seat as a Holy Son candidate. Starting tomorrow, you will no longer live in the Candidate Hall. Someone will arrange new lodging for you, and your resources will be allocated according to the standards of an official member.”
He stood up and pushed a document stamped with a dark red seal toward Jiang Lin.
“Sign this. Then go find Hawke. Someone will take you to your new residence first thing tomorrow morning.”
Jiang Lin picked up the quill on the desk and signed the name “Drake.”
He deliberately made his handwriting a bit messy, carrying the slight awkwardness typical of someone who had only recently joined the organization.
The deacon put away the document and waved him off.
Jiang Lin turned and walked out of the room.
As Jiang Lin walked back along the corridor after leaving the small room, his pace did not quicken or slow.
Maintaining the calm rhythm expected of someone who had just finished a report, he crossed the side corridor, pushed open the side door of the cathedral, and stepped into the slanting afternoon sunlight.
In the shadow of the courtyard wall, Big Guy was squatting, idly flicking the gravel on the ground with a blade of grass.
Seeing Jiang Lin walk out, he looked up, his gaze lingering on Jiang Lin's face for a fraction of a second before he stood up and brushed the dust off his hands.
“How did it go?”
“We got promoted,” Jiang Lin said as he walked over, lowering his voice slightly. “Official seats starting tomorrow. Both of us.”
Big Guy nodded, asking no further questions.
The two walked back toward the Candidate Hall side by side at an unhurried pace, looking just like two ordinary cultists who had just received a decent assignment and were heading back to pack their bags.
Yet, there were no unnecessary words between them, as if those secrets had been entirely swallowed by the darkness of the mine.
Meanwhile, in the room on the third floor of the cathedral, the gray-robed deacon was still sitting behind his desk.
The document with the dark red seal had already been tucked into a drawer. Spread before him was the parchment report that the investigation team had brought back from the mine.
“There was nothing at the scene,” the deacon murmured, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of the report as if speaking to the air. “No bodies, no blood, no altar fragments. Not even a single strand of hair was left behind.”
In the corner of the room, a figure clad in a worn, dark gray robe slowly materialized from the shadows.
He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his face as ordinary as any traveler you might pass on the street, but a subtle glint flickered in his dark brown eyes.
“Do you believe what he said?”
The old-robed man spoke, his voice low, carrying the characteristic caution of someone accustomed to observing from the dark.
“An ambush? Demons? Comrades killed in action?”
The deacon shook his head.
“Believing even half of what he said is already giving him plenty of face.”
“But you signed it.”
“The Bishop wanted it signed,” the deacon said, leaning back in his chair. “And the Bishop is right. No matter what actually happened in the mine, the result is what matters most. Those two came back alive, the hidden threat in the mine has been cleared, and nothing was left at the scene. That is enough.”
The old-robed man fell silent for a moment. Then he straightened up from the wall, walked over to the desk, picked up the report to flip through it, and set it back down.
“Do you know why I recommended him?”
“You said temperament is more important than talent.”
“That was the public reason.”
The old-robed man paused.
“But in reality, what I truly wanted to see was just how far he could go. Someone who sacrifices his colleagues within three days of joining might just be acting on impulse.”
“But someone who can calmly fabricate a story and return to report after sacrificing twelve people... that is not impulse.”
The deacon's fingers tapped twice on the desk.
“How many did he sacrifice in the mine this time?”
“Calculating based on the volume of sacrifices the altar processed, at least fifteen. Among them were two 5th-Ranks and one 6th-Rank.”
The old-robed man's tone was as flat as if he were reporting the weather.
“If all that energy was absorbed by a single person, it would be enough to push someone at the 4th-rank early stage to the 4th-rank peak, or even to the threshold of the 5th-Rank.”
“That kid is disguising his aura as the 3rd-Rank early stage, but the sacrifice volume from the mine doesn't add up. His actual rank right now is at least at the 3rd-rank peak.”
He walked over to the room's only window and stood there, his gaze falling upon the two figures slowly walking toward the Candidate Hall in the courtyard below.
“A 3rd-rank peak aura disguised as the 3rd-Rank early stage, and no one has seen through it yet. This proves his control over his power is incredibly precise. That layer of disguise fits his body almost perfectly. It's not a temporary facade, but something completely integrated into his instinctive reactions.”
The deacon leaned back in his chair again.
“What about Hawke?”
“Hawke's aura fluctuations are also abnormal.”
“He usually displays a rank between the 4th-rank early stage and mid-stage, but I haven't been able to grasp his true level yet.”
“But one thing is certain—the cooperation between those two was definitely not a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“They must have reached some sort of understanding inside the mine, though I can't be sure of the details yet.”
The old-robed man turned around to face the deacon.
“A madman who is ready to sacrifice his colleagues at any moment, paired with a partner who can similarly walk away unscathed after committing murder without batting an eye. Do you think people like this can truly be of use to the church?”
“They can be used,” the deacon replied flatly. “As long as we are stronger than them—strong enough to make them understand the cost of betrayal. The Bishop also wants to see just how far they can go.”
After a moment of silence, he added:
“The church needs people who can get things done, and who are willing to do them. They have the guts, the means, and they know how to clean up their mess.”
“Such people are a menace when left among the ordinary followers, but right under the noses of the higher-ups, they can actually be controlled.”
He paused, his voice carrying a trace of caution that even he didn't realize was there.
“But they do need to be watched. No one knows what two individuals capable of causing such a stir at the bottom of the secret cult will pull next.”
The old-robed man said nothing more.
He vanished back into the shadows of the corner, like a wooden post swallowed by the dimness of the room. His presence completely dissipated, as if he had never existed.
In the courtyard, twilight was slowly creeping up the walls.
After returning to the Candidate Hall, Jiang Lin and Big Guy went their separate ways without any further conversation.
Jiang Lin pushed open the door and stepped into his cramped room, letting it click shut behind him.
Instead of lighting a lamp, he stood by the window, looking out through the small south-facing pane at the clearing below as it gradually darkened.
His gaze wasn't focused on any particular spot in the clearing, but he could feel that the stare was still there.
The old-robed man who had been following him ever since Anvil Town had just appeared in the cathedral corridor once again.
His aura was incredibly faint—so faint that if Jiang Lin hadn't been intentionally paying attention, he wouldn't have noticed it at all.
But this time, Jiang Lin sensed that the source of that gaze was closer than before.
He walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, mentally retracing the events of the day.
From sacrificing those people in the mine, to fabricating his story and returning to report, to the deacon announcing their early promotion.
Every single step seemed to have gone perfectly.
And this very 'perfection' was, in itself, the greatest flaw.
He had deliberately kept his disguised aura at the 3rd-Rank early stage. But after sacrificing so many high-rank individuals in the mine...
Even if he had only absorbed a portion of the energy, his true rank shouldn't logically still be at the 3rd-Rank early stage.
Anyone who knew how these things worked could easily calculate the volume of the sacrifice and guess that something was off.
And the Bishop and that high-ranking cultist watching him from the shadows were clearly experts in the field.
Leaning against the headboard, he pondered quietly for a moment.
Then, he made a decision:
To keep things exactly as they were.
Since the other party hadn't exposed him on the spot, it meant they had no intention of doing so.
In that case, he could use this opportunity to continue climbing up the ladder.
An official seat as a Holy Son candidate meant a path that led closer to the upper echelons of the church.
And being closer to that path meant more opportunities to come into contact with high-ranking members.
The next morning, just as the sky fully brightened, a carriage painted dark gray arrived outside the gates of the Candidate Hall.
The driver was a church utility worker. He hopped down expressionlessly, nodded at Jiang Lin and Big Guy, and gestured for them to get in.
Carrying the old pack he had used all the way from Anvil Town, Jiang Lin sat down on the opposite bench of the carriage, resting the bag on his lap.
Big Guy sat beside him after boarding. He didn't say much, merely leaning against the carriage wall and closing his eyes to rest.
The carriage rolled over the cobblestone road, passing through the relatively quiet morning streets of Shadow City before coming to a halt outside an independent stone-walled courtyard.
The courtyard gate wasn't large, with its two iron picket doors half-ajar. A simplified version of the secret cult's insignia was carved into the doorframe.
The courtyard was much smaller than the Candidate Hall, consisting of only three stone houses built side-by-side and a small clearing paved with blue bricks. However, it was exceptionally quiet, with no other buildings nearby, making it feel remarkably secluded.
A young man in a short gray robe stood at the entrance of the courtyard with a ring of keys in his hand. Seeing the two dismount, he walked up to them and spoke in a formulaic tone:
“Drake and Hawke?”
“Yes.”
“This courtyard is your new residence. The two rooms on the left are your bedrooms, and the one on the far right is the storage room. Here is one key for each of you. Don't lose them.”
He handed over the two iron keys, then pointed to a well covered by a stone slab in the corner of the courtyard wall.
“That well has fresh water that you can drink directly. Your monthly supplies will be delivered to the courtyard gate; you'll have to carry them into the storage room yourselves. Do not wander around unless you receive specific orders. If anything comes up, go straight to the cathedral and find the deacon.”
With that, he turned and left, offering no further pleasantries.
Jiang Lin took his key and walked into the stone house on the left.
The room wasn't particularly large, but it was more than twice as spacious as his cramped cubicle in the Candidate Hall:
A bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, a mirror in the corner, and a brand-new oil lamp sitting beside it.
The window faced east, and the morning sun slanted in perfectly, casting a warm band of light across the wooden floor.
He placed his pack on the bed, tidied up a bit, and then walked out of the house to stand in the brick clearing for a moment.
Big Guy also emerged from the adjacent room. Leaning against his doorframe with his arms crossed, his gaze casually swept over the four corners of the courtyard walls.
“This place isn't bad.”
Big Guy's voice wasn't loud, but with no one else around, there was no need to deliberately lower it.
Jiang Lin nodded:
“Better than the Candidate Hall.”
Neither of them mentioned the mine, but the tacit understanding they had developed made such words unnecessary.
Jiang Lin squatted in the middle of the clearing, pressing his fingertips into the gaps between the blue bricks to confirm the ground was flat and sturdy. Then he stood up and brushed the dust off his hands.
The treatment of an Official Holy Son Candidate was much more substantial than he had expected.
By noon that day, someone delivered a batch of supplies, including half a sack of fine grains, several pieces of cured meat, a jar of salt, a bundle of firewood, and a small pouch of magic crystals.
Though the quantity wasn't massive, the quality was significantly better than what was provided at the Candidate Hall.
No one came to disturb him in the afternoon. Jiang Lin spent half the day in his room, running his breathing technique through three full cycles.
He stabilized his magic essence at the level of just having broken through to the 5th-Rank early stage.
In reality, after sacrificing over a dozen people in the mine, his total magic essence had surged once again, equivalent to what he would have gained from nearly half a month of diligent cultivation.
It seemed the path of sacrifice indeed allowed one's cultivation to grow incredibly fast.
He felt that if he sacrificed a few more 6th-Rank powerhouses, he would be able to touch the threshold of the 5th-Rank mid-stage.
The sensation was like climbing a mountain with a sack of stones that grew heavier by the step; he hadn't even reached the mountainside, yet the weight on his shoulders was already far heavier than when he started.
He needed to thoroughly digest this harvest as quickly as possible. Once he found an opportunity, he would perform another massive sacrifice to charge directly into the 5th-Rank mid-stage or even higher.
Looking back, those 6th-Rank powerhouses he had killed in the past had truly been a waste.
...
At dusk, a knock sounded at the courtyard gate.
Jiang Lin stepped out of his room and saw the old-robed man standing at the entrance.
Today, he had changed into a set of dark gray casual clothes, carrying a slightly less concealed aura than when he wore his old robe. Yet, his face remained as ordinary as ever, making him look like a neighbor dropping by for a visit in the twilight.
“Drake,” he said in a moderate tone. “The Bishop asked me to deliver a message: a shipment of supplies needs to be delivered to Bramble Town to the west the day after tomorrow, and we need someone familiar with the wilderness to escort it. You will go. Hawke will remain here on standby.”
...
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