"Hello, Ms. Camille, I've been to Romania these past few days," York looked towards the elderly faithful and major donor, Ms. Camille, who was sitting next to him and often visited the Pluto Church.
Her attire today seemed simple and neat, yet the quality of her clothing, evident to his eyes, undoubtedly spoke of its high cost.
Here was a wealthy, perhaps also influential, elderly believer. Though she ran a free food truck, serving meals everywhere as part of charity donation events, the ability to host such events where affluent individuals could socialize was not something just any wealthy person could do.
If this were his previous life, he, as a priest, might have been considered lesser. But in this extraordinary parallel world, he seemed even more formidable.
"Romania?"
Ms. Camille, of middle age, raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Yes," York smiled, "I was on a mission, so I had to travel."
Ms. Camille's face showed envy. "I've heard that Rome is a beautiful country with museums everywhere. I haven't been there yet."
Observing Ms. Camille's suddenly somber mood, York maintained his smile.
"It is indeed beautiful. Romania is a country worth visiting. When you have time, you might want to go there with your family."
At these words, Ms. Camille pursed her lips and shook her head, her voice low and melancholic.
"I might not be able to go, Father. I've been busy with my child Bellamy's matters recently."
"Bellamy?"
York was surprised. Ms. Camille was a single parent with an elder son, Saxon, and a younger daughter, Bellamy. Compared to Saxon, who was already grown up, Bellamy was only about eight or nine years old.
Recalling the little girl Ms. Camille used to bring along, York looked at the somewhat weary Ms. Camille and continued.
"Ms. Camille, what happened to Bellamy?"
Perhaps because it was about her daughter, Ms. Camille didn't respond but closed and then reopened her eyes, staring blankly into space. Her voice, seemingly calm but barely audible to others, was clear and slightly trembling to York.
"Bellamy... my poor child..."
York narrowed his eyes, waiting quietly without pressing further. Having been a priest for many years, he knew believers would naturally provide answers when ready.
His role as a priest was destined to be the best listener and guide.
It didn't take long for Ms. Camille to respond, mentioning recent issues with Bellamy sleepwalking, leading doctors to suspect she might have a mental illness.
However, remembering the little girl's condition, York's eyes flickered with doubt. If Bellamy had a mental illness, he, a priest skilled in identifying such conditions or demonic possessions, would have noticed earlier.
"Ms. Camille, can you tell me more about Bellamy's situation? If you're comfortable..."
"Of course, Father." Ms. Camille managed a weak smile, then shared recent events.
"I don't know when it started, but there have been noises coming from Bellamy's room. I suspected she wasn't sleeping well. As a mother, I asked her what she was doing up every night, but she insisted she was sleeping soundly..."
York's expression remained unchanged, his left hand unconsciously stroking the Bible.
"So, you suspect Bellamy has somnambulism?"
"Yes, I took her to the hospital to check if it was indeed sleepwalking,
At first, all tests were normal, but when the doctor personally examined her and asked questions, she suddenly changed, spewing vulgar language and exhibiting extremely uncoordinated movements..."
York's face still showed no reaction. "So, the doctor's final diagnosis is that Bellamy might have a mental illness?"
"Yes," Ms. Camille continued, "He suspects it might be severe depression."
York frowned.
Noticing his expression, Ms. Camille's face showed despair.
"I know you might find it unbelievable, Father. I feel the same; I can't imagine Bellamy being depressed,
But the doctor mentioned it might be related to her father, I..."
Hearing this, York didn't know what to say. The doctor's judgment seemed not unfounded, especially considering Ms. Camille's status; it was unlikely for a doctor to make such a statement without considering all factors.
"May God bless Bellamy," York sighed, passing his cross to her.
"Please give my cross to Bellamy, for it represents my wishes."
With that, York spoke gently, "I will pray to God for Bellamy, wishing her health and growth."
Moved, Ms. Camille accepted the cross,
"Thank you! Thank you, Father!"
...
Ms. Camille promised to bring Bellamy next time, leaving contentedly, while York remained seated, pondering the conversation.
"It might not be as I thought."
Shaking his head, York stood up, glanced at the church, now less crowded due to Eileen's charity event, and thought,
"This is just as well..."
Leaving those words behind, York returned to his small room to continue enchanting new ammunition and grenades with a double buff.
Preparing for the future, he amassed a whole arsenal, relying on his conscientious effort.
Without pre-enchanted ammunition and holy water, his limited mental and magical energy would be quickly depleted in battle, leaving him vulnerable.
Too risky!
York picked up a grenade, imbuing it with a double buff through a mere thought.
[Used 10 points of holy power]
[Used 10 points of magic power]
[...]
Despite the drain on his spiritual and magical energy, he would continue his priestly duties, teaching classes, listening to believers' woes, and guiding the lost.
His routine was interrupted by Jeffrey and Bridget's arrival, reminding him of the funeral ceremony for the many lonely, family-less deceased of Reed Apartment Building.
With a beginning and an end,
Although large paranormal events were handled by official organizations, it was the priest's role to perform the final rites, preferably for his own congregation.
But with many tenants dead in Reed Apartments, unlike those in Jessie Building who had families, many residents died alone, unremembered.
"Father!"
Bridget ran towards him with open arms.
As she attempted to hug him, York used his arm's length to keep her at bay, then turned to Jeffrey, holding Bridget's sister, Casey.
"Are you all prepared?"
"Yes, Father."
Jeffrey, looking much refreshed, nodded.
"Everyone has been arranged at Nas Cemetery."
Remembering the painful deaths in Reed Apartment's corridors, York sighed.
"Then let's go."
...
As the month ends, despite the poor writing and updates, I humbly ask for your votes (awkward smile).
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Funeral rites in Western countries are fundamentally religious, meaning religion truly permeates the life of the faithful from beginning to end.
In this context, a priest not only conducts rituals but also provides spiritual support, offering comfort, encouragement, and solace, playing a crucial role in prayer, recitation of scripture, and conveying God's comfort and hope.
For families of faith, the presence of a priest can bring peace of mind and confidence.
"This departure is a painful experience for us, but we must remember, it is not the end but the beginning of another journey for the departed.
The departure of the deceased is part of the cycle of life; their spirit will continue to exist and forever inspire us."
In front of a vast new cemetery, everyone mourned with York's eulogy, especially Bridget and her sister Casey, the survivors and last remaining members of their family, who were inconsolable.
Between them stood their father, Eugene, alongside relatives of other deceased, including Jeffrey, Baker, and some police officers, watching the priest and the new graves in silence.
The atmosphere of a funeral always weighs heavily on the heart.
"Let us pray together that God grants peace and solace to the souls of the departed and that the families and friends of the deceased find comfort and strength in this difficult time.
Finally, let us remember the lives of the departed, cherish the love and companionship we shared, and move forward with hope and courage, wishing for the eternal rest of their souls in heaven."
Watching the newly made graves, York made the sign of the cross with a heavy heart.
"Amen."
Everyone behind him also closed their eyes and bowed their heads for the final farewell.
After a while,
The funeral ended, and those who needed to leave had already gone.
"Thank you, Father, I know it was you who saved Bridget and the children." Only a weary middle-aged man remained to offer his sincere thanks.
"They are my last treasures."
York, undisturbed, looked towards Bridget and Casey in the distance, "No need for thanks, if possible, I only hope you can fulfill your duties as a father."
Eugene also looked at his daughters, earnestly saying,
"I will, Father."
York nodded, "God will remember your words."
The middle-aged man nodded back and walked away with large strides, pulling Bridget and Casey, who kept looking back, slowly away.
"Sigh."
Watching the father and daughters, now dependent only on each other, disappear, York turned to face the new graves, standing quietly in the wind for a long time before sighing.
"I really didn't do it for this purpose."
Just now, he had received the last gratitude from the deceased.
[The Collective Blessing of Reed Apartment Building]
[Blessing Feedback: +2 Attribute Points]
This was unexpected and brought a moment of enlightenment.
Often, in situations like these, when he genuinely wished for the dead to rest in peace without any ulterior motive, he would receive something in return.
When he had a specific goal in mind, he often ended up empty-handed.
Looking at the virtual window in front of him, York allocated the newly acquired two attribute points to his overall constitution.
[Point Allocation Successful]
[Overall Constitution increased from 75 to 77]
"Just 24 points away from breaking a hundred..."
Feeling the instant feedback of the allocation in his body, holding the Bible, York scanned the new graves once more before turning to leave.
Before he had gone far, a girl with a skinny frame, wearing an ill-fitting hoodie and jeans, carrying a worn backpack, approached with a blank expression, hands in her pockets.
York stepped aside to let her pass, and she politely nodded without waiting for a response, walking towards the interior, her demeanor calm yet silent.
For some reason, even though they merely passed by each other, York felt a deep despair and struggle hidden beneath her indifferent and calm facade.
Recalling the first impression of her faded hoodie without a distinguishable logo, worn at the knees jeans covered in clay stains, and her dirty shoes,
York instinctively looked back.
In his view, the girl was standing in front of an unburied grave, staring blankly at a coffin inside the pit.
York's brow furrowed, watching her suddenly climb down into the grave, curl up on top of the coffin, hugging her legs.
In the empty cemetery, with only the cold wind blowing, the girl looked as forlorn and helpless as a stray kitten licking its wounds, invoking a feeling of compassion.
Seeing this, York remembered what Jeffrey had told him about the cemetery.
Nas Cemetery doesn't charge for burial, making it the preferred resting place for impoverished families to bury their loved ones.
Due to poverty and lack of money, many buried here didn't have a formal funeral, no priest, no eulogy, just a hole dug and buried on the spot.
And so, with too many single tenants dying in Reed Apartments without family or anyone to claim them, the official organization had no choice but to arrange their resting place here.
York remained silent, watching.
Given the known information, it was likely another sad case.
The person in the coffin was probably her last remaining family member.
Thinking this, York slowly approached.
Encountering such a scene, he couldn't just watch and do nothing.
Finally, standing in front of the grave with nothing but a pit and a coffin, a digger approached, its engine roaring. York, holding the Bible, glanced over.
Perhaps the sound of the digger caught the girl's attention, but she just looked up, continued lying on the coffin without saying a word, her grip on her legs gradually loosening as she lay face down on the coffin.
Seeing the digger coming closer, possibly to start filling the grave, York gently asked,
"Child, what is your name?"
The seemingly indifferent girl propped herself up on the upper half of the coffin, looking up at the tall priest for a few seconds before obediently responding,
"Liz Murray."
Her voice was soft, but York heard it.
The digger arrived nearby at that moment.
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