"Bishop, here is the full report of today's events for your review."
Despite being in his fifties, Marcos was unusually excited because he was about to be baptized. However, he now stood respectfully before the bishop, placing the report on the desk. It detailed the process and handling of the rotspawn incident in Staht Town from earlier in the day.
York looked at Marcos with rare satisfaction. He was undoubtedly very pleased with him.
"Go gather everyone," York instructed. "Tonight, I will baptize all of you."
This statement was like a nuclear bomb exploding in Marcos's heart, but York casually picked up the report. Although he had watched everything from a God's-eye view and knew all the details, it was still proper to show due diligence.
Marcos was momentarily stunned. As he regained his composure and watched the bishop perusing the report, he cautiously asked, "Bishop, everyone? Not just me?"
"Of course," York replied, glancing up from the report. "I only need people who are competent in all respects. We can't delay the matters at the border any longer."
Marcos nodded, understanding the bishop's intent, and bowed slightly.
"Yes, Bishop."
Despite this, Marcos felt a surge of excitement. He had thought he would be the only one baptized. Now, knowing his colleagues would also gain the ability to protect themselves against demons, he felt even more uplifted.
York waved his hand dismissively. "Go on, get busy."
Marcos nodded again and slowly withdrew. York returned his gaze to the report, scanning through it briefly.
"We need to accelerate the process…" York murmured to himself. The border incidents had shown him the value of time. Although not heartless, he knew acceleration was inevitable.
As planned, he would start with the Pluto Church, moving on from Belobello Church and establishing new ones along the way. Each new church added to his strength...
That evening, Marcos led forty-seven janitors into Belobello Church. The solemn atmosphere of the church, illuminated by candlelight, made them tread lightly, wary of disturbing the peace. Yet, excitement couldn't be held back by some, who whispered among themselves.
"Marcos, is the bishop really going to baptize us?"
Marcos nodded once more, looking around the empty church and spoke seriously, "When it's time, show your best behavior. Don't embarrass me."
The group exchanged looks and responded in unison, "Understood."
They all gathered at the base of the altar, too nervous to sit, just standing and waiting.
Time ticked by slowly, and just when they felt it stretch endlessly, they noticed the bishop, dressed in his robes, appearing silently in the aisle.
Marcos immediately knelt down.
"Bishop!"
The rest followed suit, their voices echoing through the church.
York nodded, observing them—a group of seasoned janitors in their thirties and forties, all bearing the marks of hard experiences.
"It seems I have the elite here..." York walked up to Marcos, who was at the front of the group, in a heavy atmosphere filled only with their breathing. "Are you ready to embrace your mission, Marcos?" he asked calmly.
York always maintained his dignity.
Marcos bowed deeply and replied earnestly, "Yes, Bishop, I am prepared."
With a simple response, York could tell Marcos was ready to sacrifice everything if necessary.
"Good."
York said warmly, placing his hand on Marcos's head and channeling the holy power stored in Belobello Church.
"The Lord will see your efforts..."
His voice lingered as the church filled with bright, pure light, overshadowing the night outside. Cheers erupted from outside, including from the young janitors who exchanged glances and silently pledged their efforts.
It was the 1,352nd year of the Dark Era.
The church had been established for eight days.
On the second day of the establishment of the Belobello Sanctuary, the church's savior, York John, personally baptized the first Pontiff, Marcos Castor...
That night, a total of forty-seven janitors were elevated to the priesthood...
The next day, York boarded the vehicle heading to the next location, with Marcos beside him and Makarov driving.
"Let's depart," York announced, signaling the start of their journey.
A convoy of dozens of vehicles set off toward the nearby Staht Town, which had already prepared its once-abandoned church for the bishop's arrival.
Not only that, but at York's signal, Marcos ordered the abandoned churches they passed to be refurbished.
Thus, all that was needed was for York to consecrate each church personally, and a true church would be established.
The consecration was brief and efficient, and York sensed the end of his mission was near.
That meant his days in this world were numbered.
Putting aside the document he was holding, York glanced at Marcos, who sat rigidly in the passenger seat. He had found his first Pont
iff.
To his surprise, this man truly lived up to being a leader among the janitors. Though a descendant of one of the clergymen who had established the new church years ago, Marcos's innate talent was exceptional.
Once baptized and consecrated by him, Marcos's initial use of holy power had broken through a hundred points—a very high baseline, hinting at a potential to reach four to five hundred points.
Thinking back to his own beginnings, York couldn't help but remember how many points he had started with. It was hard to measure because, at that time, he also felt he had more holy power than others.
"Too bad there was no system back then to quantify it."
York couldn't compare his points directly with Marcos's. First, they weren't comparable. His holy power, although only a couple of hundred points now, in terms of quality and effect, could match dozens of Marcos's points.
Because of this, he had never been clear about how much his power equaled others', how strong he really was.
He always relied on his intuition in battles and the points and difficulty of missions to gauge the strength of his enemies.
And this simple assessment had proven effective: any reward points above his highest attribute indicated a formidable enemy or challenge.
Conversely, if below his attribute, it was an enemy or challenge he could easily handle.
Why he could figure this out was simple: experience. When you do something often enough, you develop a sense for it.
Thinking about this, York turned to Marcos.
"Have the janitors from other cities arrived?"
Marcos nodded immediately, replying, "Yes, Bishop, the janitors from Guishelm City have arrived; we're just waiting for those from Blaigred City."
"They have all moved to the front lines according to the plan..." Marcos added, his voice laden with gravity.
York squinted, recalling the map of the Free State.
"We have now retreated to where?"
The Free State consisted of three cities, each the size of a province in his former homeland. These cities bordered each other, forming a single large nation. Beyond them lay four other large countries in similar circumstances, though all were isolated, connected only by networks and telecommunications.
According to the map, the front line closest to collapsing was indeed Blaigred City.
The line of collapse ran straight through Blaigred City, spreading outward from there.
Originally, this point required crossing twenty-four towns and counties to reach Blaigred City.
"We've retreated to Elsdon Ancient Town," Marcos replied, his breath heavy with the weight of the news.
"Elsdon Ancient Town..."
York frowned slightly. If they had already retreated to Elsdon Ancient Town, only eighteen towns and counties remained between them and Blaigred City. According to the previous plan, to maintain a safe distance, they needed to clear two towns.
This meant only twenty towns remained before the collapse reached Blaigred City.
"There's still time, but let's speed up," York stated flatly.
"Yes!"
Marcos and Makarov responded together.
The lead vehicle accelerated, shooting forward like an arrow.
That day, the third church opened in Staht Town—named Staht Church.
Simultaneously, after York's inspection and approval, thirty-seven janitors from Guishelm City were baptized and promoted to the priesthood.
Without any delay.
Leaving a priest to guard the Staht Church, York led a large group of priests to the next location, where a prepared church awaited them.
Now, the entire Free State was like a vehicle driven by him, crafted by his own hands.
All the people, all the citizens knew the significance of this.
Thanks to the vigorous propaganda and support of the former janitors, now priests, he was the center of attention.
The process was incredibly smooth.
Arriving at a new church, letting the people witness it firsthand, he would consecrate the new church and leave immediately.
Throughout the long day:
Staht Church.
Colmar Church.
Bambelon Church.
Three new churches were freshly established.
As they delved deeper, the scale grew larger.
By evening, when the prompt in his ear sounded, York suddenly realized that among the five churches he controlled, one had become a level five church.
[Bambelon Church]
[Level 5 Church]
[Accumulated Holy Power: 500 points]
[Number of Believers: 5,213]
[...]
"Indeed, the more people there are, the richer the resources, the stronger the power."
York lay in bed, somewhat emotional. He remembered the scene from the afternoon when he arrived at Bambelon—it was packed.
Crowds everywhere, bustling and jostling.
The one thing they all shared was the knowledge of who he was and what he was doing there, and what it meant.
Thus, as soon as the consecration of Bambelon Church was complete, it immediately rose to level three and was close to reaching level four.
"This way..."
York then looked at other data.
With a thought, he consolidated all the data.
"The total amount of holy power I can use in one go is..."
Pluto Church had already advanced to level three, totaling 300 points.
Belobello Church had reached level four, totaling 400 points.
Staht Church, at level three and with its rapid growth, could upgrade to level four the next day, totaling 400 points.
Colmar Church, after a day's fermentation, was now a level four church, totaling 400 points.
"With the 500 points from Bambelon Church, plus the holy power accumulated inside priests like Marcos, I can use about 7,000 points of holy power in one go..."
Calculating this, York couldn't help but clench his fist.
Using 7,000 points of holy power in one go, coupled with the doubling of magical power, he could strike with about 1.4 million points of holy power and critical damage.
"1.4 million, seems a bit terrifying..."
York shook his head sharply.
Given the previous scenarios, he really couldn't imagine the extent of damage this strike would do. Initially thinking it could destroy a country, now, with such developments, he simply couldn't fathom the scale of this strike.
"Probably even a Satan-level demon would have to retreat if faced with this..."
York mused internally, then closed his eyes.
In his mind's eye, outside the room were dense crowds of followers, including priests like Marcos, waiting for him.
And they had no idea just how much power the man they were waiting for could wield with their support...
Time passed slowly.
The people outside spent a sleepless night.
Inside, York's eyes snapped open precisely on time.
"Continue..."
Accompanied by these words and a group of people escorting him, York's journey resumed.
In one day, on the way to the front lines, he tirelessly established five new churches.
Three level four churches and two level five churches.
The power at his command grew yet again.
Finally, when they reached Beirst City, where Marcos was stationed, a new level seven church, Beirst Church, was freshly established and even doubling towards level eight.
Arriving here, York truly saw what a big city should look like—something of a cyberpunk vibe, Beirst City was even larger than the big cities of his former, real-world existence.
But due to the long-awaited and fervent followers, he could only hide in a luxurious room...
"Lord Marcos, why won't the bishop see us? Why?"
Marcos, clad in a freshly made priest's robe, walked along a decoratively carved wide corridor, followed by a group of local government officials.
Hearing this, Marcos stopped and looked at the somewhat perplexed officials.
In his eyes, these were all high-ranking secular authorities of the Free State, each with their own powers.
In peacetime, they would be influential figures, but now, in this apocalyptic era, they were hardly worth mentioning.
The followers, placing all their hopes on the bishop, were like a vast ocean supporting the entire church, capable of engulfing everything, unstoppable.
Because of the crazed followers outside and the bishop's advice, he now understood why the church had once been so prominent and why it had suddenly weakened during a millennium of peaceful development.
It was due to some people's greed, as the bishop had said. From now on, the church must remain pure and uniform, or else allowing those with ulterior motives to join and use the church's power for their own secular gains would lead to disaster.
History was repeating itself.
"Because the bishop doesn't want to see you, it's that simple."
Marcos spoke calmly.
"Prepare yourselves. The church will soon separate from all secular powers, and then I will discuss this in detail with you."
With that, Marcos disregarded their change in expression and strode away.
Now, the most important thing was not this, but to deliver the frontline intelligence that had just come into his hands and the comprehensive clearance and probation process of all priests to the bishop...
It was too uncomfortable; everyone was nearly burning up. Brothers, remember to keep warm.
___________________
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In the luxurious room, Marcos, now more dignified after his baptism, stole a glance at the bishop who was reviewing documents. Even though he now possessed divine power and could sense the strength of his peers, every look at the bishop made him feel as if he were gazing upon a true deity.
Before becoming a priest, he had never seen a deity nor knew what one should look like. If asked now, he would say a deity should look exactly like the bishop. This was a sensation he could not have comprehended before his transformation; as people change, so do their perspectives and levels.
The dust falls but does not cling to the bishop; it touches him and falls away. More importantly, being near the bishop always filled him with a profound sense of peace.
And many more feelings...
Marcos was entranced by the bishop in front of him.
"Well done."
Just then, a compliment awakened him, and Marcos modestly lowered his head.
York was dressed in a simple yet comfortable casual outfit. He praised Marcos, set aside the documents on the table, and picked up a cup of coffee.
After baptizing so many priests, it was not feasible to leave them idle. In the bustling atmosphere, it was the perfect time for them to thoroughly cleanse every corner of the city and familiarize themselves with the combat methods of the clergy.
Clearly, the results were satisfying. In just half a day, these zealous new priests had eliminated five hidden rotspawn. These new priests were eager to test their powers against the rotspawn.
This achieved two desired outcomes:
1. It demonstrated the true power of the church to the public.
2. It showed their strength and provided them with experience.
Thus, the Beirst Grand Cathedral was now a Level 8 church, rapidly advancing towards Level 9, displaying the caliber of a bishop's grand cathedral.
In York's view, each of the three cities of the Free State should host a bishop's grand cathedral-level church. In the church hierarchy, bishops are not simply clergy that can be discussed in the same breath as priests. Bishops possess at least 300 points of divine power.
York sipped his coffee, looking at Marcos, who stood obediently in front of him, far less imposing than he appeared outside. This man was his chosen bishop and candidate for pope. His age alone proved his capabilities. Furthermore, his leadership had elevated the janitor group to its current high status. His family background and knowledge of historical overviews made him the ideal pope to ensure the church's history did not repeat itself.
"I am very pleased, Marcos," York said, smiling mildly and stirring his coffee. "Next, let's start deploying our people to the churches across various locations."
Marcos nodded, "Yes, Bishop. I will arrange that shortly."
York tapped the side of his coffee cup, deep in thought. "You can wait to leave after I make my move tonight."
Hearing this, Marcos's eyes widened. Make a move? He was somewhat unclear about the bishop's intentions.
"Bishop, you mean to…" Marcos asked tentatively.
"It's nothing," York replied with a gentle smile. "Since the people of Beirst City have welcomed me so warmly, I want to give them a gift."
Marcos was momentarily taken aback, then a smile spread across his face, touched by the bishop's words.
"Tonight, I want to see what the City of Eternal Night really looks like. You all must miss it too, so a glimpse before we leave won't hurt."
---
That night, as the sun set, the day's buzz quieted with the falling darkness.
Apart from the devotees who were reluctant to leave, many had already dispersed. For them, today was undoubtedly a day when all accumulated stress was released.
Malik Obama was one such individual.
"What a great day today was…" Malik reminisced about the day, feeling sentimental.
He groped in the dark, pulled out a chair at the dining table, and sat down as if savoring the memory.
His wife, Laurie Blanck, was lighting a match at the table to ignite the oil lamp that had illuminated their home for nearly fifteen years.
In the dim light, their living room was revealed as elegantly decorated. A marble coffee table at the center held delicate flowers and an aromatic candle, emitting a faint fragrance.
Despite its modest size, the meticulous preparation was evident, showcasing the efforts this couple had put into making this home their own. Now, however, this carefully arranged living room had been sealed off since the demons' arrival.
The chandelier hanging from the ceiling had rarely been used since then.
Only the dim light continued to stubbornly illuminate the past ambiance.
"Mama!"
A child's tender voice called out.
Laurie, who had just lit the oil lamp, quickly caught her four-year-old daughter, who was running towards her in the dark.
In such darkness, she couldn't let her daughter bump into anything.
"Who exactly is
the bishop, and why doesn't he come to see us?"
Hearing this, the innocence and curiosity of a child made Laurie smile wistfully as she picked up her daughter.
"The bishop is our only hope."
Laurie pulled out a chair and sat down with her daughter Nina, explaining earnestly.
"With him here, we can live well."
But children's questions never cease once they start.
Nina looked up earnestly at her mother in the flickering light.
"Why doesn't he come out to see us then!"
She blinked, slightly aggrieved: "We waited so long, I got tired of standing."
Continuing without pause, she added, "Mama! Nina wants to see the bishop!"
Honestly, Nina was just very curious, extremely curious.
She had seen the adults around her crying, even her own mother secretly wiping tears. She had seen it, but she didn't speak of it.
"The bishop is very busy," Laurie explained with a forced smile, gently touching her daughter's head.
In this world, the reason they still persevered was here in her arms.
Nina, their treasure.
"Oh," Nina's voice lowered, "I see."
Laurie glanced at her husband Malik, who was still lost in thought.
"Maybe your dad has seen him."
Nina's eyes lit up, and she suddenly looked at her dad.
Malik was taken aback, pulled from his reverie.
Seeing her husband like this, Laurie couldn't help but speak up, "Didn't you say you caught a glimpse of the bishop at work?"
It was only a fleeting glimpse.
Malik inwardly replied, but his words painted a different picture.
He looked at his beloved family and earnestly shared his impression.
"The bishop is a handsome man, handsomer than anyone! And he's more robust than anyone…"
Laurie paused, was that it?
But she understood from his next words that he was merely appeasing their daughter Nina.
"Of course, just that glimpse was enough to make everyone, including me, stop working," Malik continued, his voice filled with emotion.
"Back then, we workers were still anxious about the serial killings,
But from the moment we saw the bishop, we all fell silent. We knew then that the issue would be resolved easily, no, that the whole world would return to how it was."
Malik took a deep breath, looking earnestly at his wife.
"This is no scam, and the bishop is no fraud."
Laurie also looked at her husband, her expression softening. She heard the conviction in his voice.
"I know."
Laurie gently embraced her daughter Nina.
"The videos, the power displayed by the priests today, I saw it all. The bishop is certainly not like those frauds of the past."
The couple exchanged glances, their eyes conveying volumes. Only Nina looked puzzled, turning her head from her mother to her father.
What was going on, she wondered.
Just then, Nina heard something. She blinked uncertainly towards the dark window.
From her earliest memories, she had always been afraid of the dark, never daring to step beyond the reach of the light.
"I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in me shall never die."
"…"
Nina heard these words, certain she had heard them clearly.
"Mama!"
Nina looked up to explain what she heard but found her parents already staring at the dark window, faces incredulous.
"Ah, so it wasn't just me," Nina thought.
Then, her mother picked her up...
"What's this?"
Laurie carried Nina towards the door, looking at her husband.
Only her husband, because of his work at the new Beirst Grand Cathedral, had heard the bishop's voice and seen him in person.
"That's the bishop's voice!"
Malik was excited, his lips visibly trembling.
"It must be the bishop."
Carrying his family, he rushed outside.
However, he found many people had already gathered at their door, including their neighbors.
And they all looked up at the sky, eyes wide, faces a mix of awe and disbelief.
"This…"
Malik followed their gaze upward.
There, a figure hovered in the air, illuminated by a radiant white light, making Malik swear he had never seen anything so clearly from such a distance before.
It was as if the figure was directly in front of his eyes, in his heart, with distance posing no obstacle.
The figure wore a bishop's robe, edged with purple, regal and reaching to the ground, with wide, tasseled sleeves that emphasized a holy aura.
A gem-encrusted cross adorned his chest, emitting a captivating light, and he held a staff in his hand.
"Bishop…"
Like the people around him, Malik's eyes began to blur.
---
Moments before.
"Bishop."
Atop the Beirst Grand Cathedral, Marcos and several priests clad in their robes watched anxiously as
York stepped onto the railing, facing the high skies.
"It's so high, are you sure…"
"It's fine."
York stood on the narrow railing, his hand gripping the bishop's staff brought from the real world, still unaccustomed to the ornate bishop's robe.
One hundred meters below—a height equivalent to about thirty floors—gales swirled around, making York's robe flutter and causing the priests behind him to fear he might fall and die.
They had advised him repeatedly, but York remained stubborn, stepping directly onto the railing just over ten centimeters wide. They wanted to stop him, but they dared not touch the bishop.
Thus, Marcos and the others were in agony.
However, York seemed oblivious, flicking his bishop's staff and muttering to himself.
"Open all the drawers..."
Suddenly, York felt countless voices of the faithful echoing in his mind.
In an instant, thousands of whispers flashed by, each crystal clear.
York closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of control.
"It's a wonderful feeling. I wonder if God feels the same..."
In that moment, York thought of God.
With every world's faithful praying, was God experiencing something similar?
"It's as if by merely wishing it, I can provide answers and power, even appearing in the hearts of the faithful..."
York opened his eyes, his gaze filled with a myriad of information streams. He stepped forward, his right foot stepping into the void.
"Bishop!"
Watching intently, Marcos and the others were horrified and rushed forward.
But they suddenly found themselves unable to move. The air around them seemed to solidify like super glue, holding them in place.
Marcos and the others were bewildered, watching the bishop.
"It's okay, Marcos."
York looked into the sky, seemingly able to see the entire city of Beirst and the devotees outside, and smiled faintly.
Under the gaze of Marcos and the others behind him, York's left foot also stepped forward.
Floating in the air.
A joke, really. The ability of telekinesis, to fly, was not even a stretch.
If he wished it, there was nothing he couldn't do.
For instance, controlling the microscopic world, particles, atoms, and so forth, though a pity he couldn't see them, so it was not feasible.
If he could see into the microscopic world, he would be a fearsome entity, nearly invincible, as he could manipulate the very particles that compose all matter.
Of course, while he couldn't do that, flying was certainly within his capabilities.
Without consuming even a bit of his mental power, York stood suspended in the air, walking forward as if on solid ground.
He also released Marcos and the others from his control.
Marcos and the others looked at each other, their faces showing they were unaccustomed to such a sight, watching in shock as the bishop walked on air, moving farther and farther away...
___________________
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