Chapter Thirty-One: Link’s Hidden Worries

Link had no interest in things like the demeanor of the strong or the pride of masters. If he could overwhelm his opponent with sheer strength, he wouldn't mind showing off or putting on airs before the enemy. But in a life-and-death struggle where only one could survive, caring about such things was sheer stupidity. As long as he could kill his enemy, Link didn't care about the means. Even if he had to bear all sorts of infamy, he'd do it. The victor becomes king, the loser is nothing—this ancient lesson, as a son of Cathay, he kept firmly in mind.

Though only a single day had passed, Link's approach to killing was now entirely different from what it had been that morning. There was no psychological burden; his sole intent was to eliminate all enemies. His methods could only be described as ruthless—every strike aimed for lethal points, causing massive casualties among the two sects' forces and shattering their ranks.

After slaying the leaders of the two groups, the remaining enemies were no longer a threat. Only Martin and his companions, still in the rear, remained.

Link promptly left the aftermath to Jack and hurried toward Martin’s location. According to Bai Ling’s intelligence, there weren’t many strong fighters left around those two—he alone would be sufficient to deal with them.

At this moment, Martin and the others were oblivious to the disaster about to befall them. Though a few defeated soldiers had tried to bring word of their rout, they were intercepted and killed by Darian and his men. Those survivors, never suspecting Darian had already switched sides, relaxed at the sight of supposed friends, only to be easily dispatched.

This was unsurprising. Though the two sects' forces seemed formidable, they numbered under a hundred—any more would have risked exposure, and, more importantly, officialdom would never allow it. For centuries, nations had spared no effort in restricting the martial power of religious groups.

Of those fewer than a hundred, less than twenty were true rank-holders, all fighters and no mages, equipped with only the most basic gear—no better than a band of thugs compared to a proper army.

Thus, facing the well-prepared Church of the All-Father—who had full intelligence on the enemy and over thirty combatants—the two sects’ forces were doomed once they stepped into the trap.

From afar, Martin and Dubai watched the battlefield, believing their ambush was going smoothly. They even had their men bring wine to celebrate.

But their revelry was shattered by a chorus of anguished screams. Turning, they saw a black-clad figure rushing at them, cutting down their subordinates with lethal efficiency. One glance was enough—who else could it be but Link? Dressed for night action, his attacks were decisive and merciless—a far cry from the kindly priest who always spoke of the All-Father’s grace during the day.

Martin and his allies were terrified. Martin, regaining his wits, stammered orders to retreat, while Dubai, after his initial shock, grew furious and shouted, “That little bastard Neil the Night! What’s going on? How is he here? Wasn’t he supposed to be injured and unconscious? How could he have recovered? What were those idiots doing, letting him slip in here? Alonzo, you useless wretch, where are you? How could you let him get this far without a sound?”

His final words were a roar, but it was useless—Alonzo was busy with Darian, hunting down the fleeing survivors far from here.

The strongest left here was only a late-stage first-rank fighter, whom Link had already slain with a sneak attack. The rest numbered no more than eight, no match at all. Link’s left hand struck with the Yang Finger, his right wielded fire magic, sending the enemies fleeing in terror. Not one could survive more than three blows—it was like a level-twenty player mowing down level-ten mobs, a complete and utter rout.

After a brief but bloody clash, neither Martin—trying desperately to flee—nor the hysterical Dubai could escape Link’s grasp. As for the rest, Link killed them to the last.

Seeing all their men dead, the old fox Martin grew docile, while the half-crazed Dubai was now subdued as well. Both stared at Link with terror in their eyes, hardly daring to breathe. Link’s ruthless efficiency had left a deep impression.

Link looked them over and smiled. “Gentlemen, it’s been a while. Since you’ve come all this way to visit the Church of the All-Father, you might as well stay a while longer.”

At these words, both Martin and Dubai felt a chill in their hearts. Martin’s face darkened as he said, “Archbishop Neil, we were in the wrong this time. But leave a way out for others, and perhaps we’ll meet again. If you pursue this to the end, the Temple of the Mad God and the Church of the God of War will never forgive the Church of the All-Father. Do you think your fledgling church can bear the wrath of two great churches? Even if you’re powerful, can you protect those close to you? Don’t forget, your sister Elia is just an innocent girl.”

Link narrowed his eyes, his smile cold. “Martin, you seem to have misunderstood something. First, it was you who sought to exterminate the Church of the All-Father. Second, your Temple of the Mad God and Church of the God of War mean nothing to me. You don’t even have a pontiff—how dare you call yourselves ‘great’ churches? Even in the Red Moon Province, you’re only mid-tier at best. Third, I despise threats, and I loathe anyone who targets those around me. I was considering keeping you as a bargaining chip with the Temple of the Mad God, but now I’ve changed my mind. Die!”

As he finished, Link thrust out his right hand—the Yang Finger shot through the air, piercing Martin’s forehead with a powerful force. Martin’s eyes widened in shock as he collapsed lifeless to the ground.

Dubai, witnessing this, collapsed in terror, his face etched with disbelief. Martin was the presiding priest of the Temple of the Mad God, not just any ordinary member. In the religious world, a presiding priest’s status was lofty—far beyond that of common priests and followers, serving as the very face of a church.

Ordinarily, when two churches clashed, as long as the loser wasn’t utterly destroyed, the winner would almost never kill the presiding priest. The defeated side could always ransom their priest back, much like nations ransoming prisoners of war.

In the religious world, killing a presiding priest was tantamount to all-out war between churches. An outsider might not understand why this mattered—after all, another priest could be elevated. Wasn’t that what rulers always did?

But religion was different. A presiding priest represented the church’s dignity, the face of its god. If the deity’s representative could be killed and the church didn’t respond, did that not mean their god didn’t truly exist? And if so, how could their followers continue to believe?

Hence, over millennia of religious strife, as long as the losing side wasn’t wiped out, the victor would rarely touch the presiding priest. The fate of other members mattered little, as long as the god’s honor was preserved.

It had to be said—no matter the world, matters of face were universal, only manifesting in different ways.

For this reason, when Link killed Martin, Dubai wondered if Link had gone mad. If war broke out, not only would the still-weak Church of the All-Father be doomed—the Church of the God of War couldn’t withstand it either.

In truth, Link regretted his action the moment he struck. It wasn’t fear of reprisal from the Temple of the Mad God, for he knew that even after Martin’s death, they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—start an all-out war with the Church of the All-Father. Only two days ago, he’d written to Count Lothar; with the Count’s backing, the Temple would have to swallow any rage.

No, Link regretted not squeezing every drop of value from Martin. A presiding priest could have been used to extract great benefits from the Temple of the Mad God, or even turned into a covert agent. But it was too late—his anger had ruined his plans. He reminded himself to learn from this, never to lose control over a few mere words.

But Link was unaware that his anger was not accidental. Had a martial arts grandmaster seen his state, they would surely have said, “Your mind is restless, your thoughts are scattered, your foundation is unstable—you’re on the verge of losing yourself.”

Since crossing over, Link had borne immense pressure—if it wasn’t debts, it was powerful enemies. Every day felt like treading on thin ice. Once the Church of the All-Father began to grow, he faced endless management issues, with no time for quiet cultivation.

The system allowed Link to learn all manner of skills quickly, but it couldn’t stabilize his foundation. As a result, his base remained shaky, and the pressure only mounted.

Facing the attack from the two sects, Link had appeared calm and confident—as if everything was under control—but that had merely been for show, to steady his followers. In truth, his heart was full of fear and uncertainty, dreading that one misstep would doom him utterly.

Tonight’s bloody battle had provided not only a chance to kill his enemies, but also an outlet for his pent-up frustration. He held nothing back. In the past, he would have converted any strong or promising foes, using them to strengthen the Church of the All-Father. This time, he had become a slaughterer, leaving almost no survivors.

After capturing Martin and Dubai, Link finally relaxed. But at that moment, Martin’s ill-chosen words triggered the negative emotions he had bottled up, and in a fit of rage, he killed him.

Unaware of the deeper issues affecting him, Link’s thoughts were now entirely on cleaning up the aftermath. Glancing at the terrified Dubai, he put on what he thought was a kindly smile. “Father Dubai—”

“Ahhh!” Dubai’s shriek cut him off. Cowering on the ground, he pleaded in terror, “Don’t—don’t kill me! I-I wasn’t your enemy by choice—it was all orders from above! Archbishop Neil, I beg you, don’t kill me. I can be of great use to you, yes! If you ransom me to the Church of the God of War, they’ll reward you handsomely. I beg you, please, don’t kill me. If you let me live, I’ll take the church’s men and leave Kinko Town forever—you’ll never see us again!”