Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Plan

Early the next morning, news arrived from the spirit vulture: some ill-intentioned individuals were lurking around the Church of the Father. Many people claim that animals can sense good or evil in humans, and this is indeed true; it is a matter of instinct. As a spirit beast, the vulture's spiritual awareness far surpassed that of ordinary creatures, allowing it to instantly identify those harboring malice toward the Church. It relayed every detail of these people directly to Link through their mental connection.

Link instructed the spirit vulture to keep watching the suspicious figures and warned the congregation to remain vigilant in the coming days—no wandering off, and if they needed to leave, always bring a companion. Although Link did not spell out the danger, a sense of impending storm swept through everyone, prompting them to reduce their outings. The main combatants of the Church, such as Saga, threw themselves into rigorous training, preparing for the inevitable conflict. They were well aware, from various sources, of the brutal nature of religious competition.

Soon after, the spirit vulture brought more news: some of those suspicious people had left, winding their way into the Church of the War God. There, the vulture saw not only members of the War God’s Church, but also Father Martin, the presiding priest of the Temple of Madness.

“So, the Church of the War God and the Temple of Madness are working together? It seems the two have indeed joined forces, and they’ve even gathered quite a few strong individuals. This is going to be a tricky situation,” Link thought, feeling the pressure as he realized there were many first-rank warriors among them and even a few of the second rank.

But then he smiled. The spirit vulture was simply invaluable; it could sense the strength of others by their aura alone. The intuition of beasts was no exaggeration. Now, knowing the enemy’s strength, Link found himself in the advantageous position of knowing their plans while remaining hidden. Their chances of victory were considerable.

With a cold gleam in his eyes, Link thought, “Since it’s certain these people mean harm, there’s no need to wait passively for their move. Hmph! Do they really think the Church of the Father is their playground, where they can come and go as they please?”

That very night, Link donned a masked night suit and met with the spirit vulture in the woods behind the monastery. Mounting its broad back, they soared into the night sky.

The spirit vulture was massive, with a wingspan over four meters, and its flight was steady. Riding it was not exactly like sitting in a carriage, but quite comparable to riding a motorcycle—only with the exhilarating sensation that flying far surpassed any earthbound travel.

Gazing at the star-studded sky and the landscape below, Link felt an urge to spread his arms wide and shout like director James Cameron, “I am the king of the world!” Alas, he could not indulge that impulse, for any loud outburst would reveal his presence and ruin his plans.

Instead, he patted the great bird’s head and mused, “Come to think of it, I haven’t given you a name. Well, since you’re a white spirit vulture, I’ll call you White Spirit. Simple and clear—what do you think?”

The spirit vulture cared little for names; any name from Link would please it. It nuzzled him affectionately in response.

Link smiled and ordered White Spirit to locate those spying on the Church. These were agents sent by the two rival sects, intent on observing the Church of the Father’s every move.

Being watched was never pleasant, and Link despised the feeling.

Soon, White Spirit had pinpointed the eight spies: five were ordinary people, three were first-rank warriors.

To Link, this group was hardly a challenge. He was no longer the novice he had been upon first acquiring the system; over the past month, he had trained relentlessly, often sparring with Saga and others to hone his combat skills and experience.

Although the eight spies were cunning, their abilities were worlds apart from Link’s, and with White Spirit’s help, subduing them was child’s play. He dispatched them with ease, barely exerting himself.

Yet Link did not kill them. Instead, he decisively cast the Confession spell, intending to convert them. Though these people belonged to religious orders, they were hardly paragons of virtue—otherwise, they would not have been sent on such underhanded missions.

As expected, under the influence of the Confession spell, they quickly succumbed to guilt and self-reproach. Their willpower was nothing compared to Jack’s, and since fusing with the elementary magic core, Link’s spiritual strength had only increased; suppressing them was a trivial matter.

Not all, however, were successfully converted. Of the five ordinary men, only three “turned to the light.” The others, though affected by the spell, could not be converted. Link, regretful, ordered them to take their own lives, leaving their bodies to White Spirit. As for how the spirit vulture disposed of them—well, vultures are notorious scavengers. While this one was not strictly a carrion eater, it did not refuse such a meal, and in this world, people did not shun such things as they might in other lands. For White Spirit, it was a fine supplement.

Let us leave aside the matter of White Spirit’s diet, lest this book meet an untimely end. Let us return our focus to Link.

When the bodies were taken away, Link looked at the three successful converts. Only one of them was a ranked warrior; the other two were ordinary men. Yet it was these two whom Link valued most—not for their combat strength, but for their skills as spies. They had been trained from childhood by the Church of the War God in espionage, infiltration, disguise, and deception.

Such talents were what the Church of the Father most desperately lacked. The spirit vulture’s scouting was formidable, but no magical beast could wholly replace human agents. If these two could further develop their strength and skills, they might even become elite operatives.

This thought brought a smile to Link’s lips. He said to the two spies, “Alonzo, Morning—from now on, you will follow me. I will assign you new duties.”

“Yes, Archbishop!” the two replied, voices trembling with excitement and devotion. Alonzo and Morning were their names, though in truth these were mere codenames, as the War God’s Church never gave surnames to its spies.

Link considered giving them surnames, but they refused, and he did not insist. He turned instead to the ranked warrior, who was not a spy but a Temple of Madness guardian named Darian Mograine.

“Darian, will the deaths of so many spies arouse the suspicion of the Temple of Madness or the Church of the War God?” Link asked.

After a moment’s thought, Darian shook his head. “It shouldn’t. Martin and the others don’t directly oversee the spies. The Temple of Madness’s agents are my responsibility, and the Church of the War God’s are Alonzo’s. As long as we’re careful, no one will notice.”

“Is that so?” Link’s eyes narrowed with a trace of a smile. He then questioned the three in detail about the rival churches. Once he was sure that the gap in strength was not insurmountable, he asked, “Do you know when the Temple of Madness and the Church of the War God plan to move against us?”

At this, Darian’s face grew livid. “Archbishop, those despicable heretics refuse to believe the Holy Light Cathedral is a miracle of the Father. They even question His existence, claiming the cathedral is merely the result of some ancient artifact in your possession. They plan to attack us in the coming days—I’ve heard they intend to send Toronto to ambush you tomorrow. Archbishop, do you wish us to eliminate those wretches?”

Darian, now utterly devoted after being converted, was deeply angered by any threat to Link or the Church.

Link glanced over at Alonzo and Morning and saw the same fervor in them. Once again, he marveled at the sheer power of the Confession spell—its conversions were absolute.

After a moment’s thought, Link shook his head. “No need. If they want to send Toronto, let them. By the way, tomorrow I will be taking a solitary walk in the woods behind the monastery. Be sure to let them know.”

The three were stunned, growing visibly anxious. Darian protested, “Archbishop, that’s too dangerous! If the heretics hear of it, they’ll surely take the opportunity to harm you!”

“I want them to come,” Link replied with a cold smile. “Didn’t you say they would send Toronto to test me first? They won’t dare dispatch too many at once. When they come, we will…”

He laid out his plan. The three listened in awe, their faces shifting from astonishment to understanding, and finally to sly, conspiratorial grins. They promised Link they would carry out his orders flawlessly.

Satisfied, Link returned. The next morning, he trained in the monastery as usual. In the afternoon, he announced he had reached a breakthrough in his martial arts practice and would seek inspiration alone in the woods, instructing everyone not to follow.

This unusual behavior, relayed through Darian, soon reached Toronto. Elated, Toronto turned to the two Temple of Madness thugs at his side. “That brat is heading into the woods for training at such a critical moment? He’s courting death! We can’t let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass.”

The two had come with Toronto and were both late-stage first-rank warriors, unaware of Link’s true intentions. One, more cautious, voiced his concern: “Why would he go to the woods today of all days? It’s too much of a coincidence—could it be a trap?”

Darian, nearby, quickly reassured them, “Don’t worry. From what I’ve observed, Neil Night is indeed a martial arts enthusiast and often goes off alone to train. This is not unusual for him. Still, be careful—he’s at least peak first-rank, not easily dealt with.”

These words, both persuasive and cautionary, dispelled their doubts. Toronto sneered, “Hmph, I know the brat is tough—he even knows the Divine Finger of Heaven. Last time I was caught off guard and suffered for it, but this time, I’ll have his head!”

With that, the other two grinned maliciously. Darian’s eyes flashed coldly, but he concealed it well.

“Hmph! Do these sacks of wine and rice really think they can harm the Archbishop? Just wait—these heretics are destined to become stepping stones for our rise!” Darian thought inwardly, a cold smile crossing his face.

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