Wellington was twelve this year, the child of a carpenter.
He had no mother. She had died in childbirth, and he had not been blessed by the Holy Light either.
There was only a tiny amount of Light Element within him.
Most of his body was occupied by darkness. Though its concentration was nowhere near that of Ansu, a one-in-a-thousand Child of Curse, he was still disparagingly called a Child of Darkness.
Unlike Ansu, little Wellington had not enjoyed the former's good fortune in childhood. Although the Dark Element in his body was still far less concentrated than Ansu's.
His father blamed him for his mother's death and had driven him from home when he was only six.
Little Wellington could not find work either. No restaurant or general store was willing to hire a Child of Darkness.
Wellington survived by begging, enduring discrimination and insults—this was the childhood of many Children of Curse.
Despite the hardship, he slowly managed to survive in the city.
As usual, before the morning dew had dampened the whole dawn, he got up, took his battered little bowl, crawled out of the dark, damp sewer, and headed to the morning market to beg for his three meals of the day.
If he went too late and the city guards were awake, they would drive them away.
If he was lucky, he might find one or two rotten dead fish. Paired with mushrooms he had gathered, that was enough to feed him for a day.
Wellington's wish was to learn what cake tasted like. His grandmother had told him that children who tasted cake were children loved by heaven, blessed children who could enter heaven after death.
Sadly, his grandmother had already died, and he had never learned what cake tasted like.
He would turn thirteen this year. He had lived by begging, surviving this way in the city for thirteen years, up until today.
That uncle did not look like a city official. He wore a hood that hid his face. He told Wellington that if he followed him, there would be cake to eat.
So Wellington followed him.
But he never got to taste cake.
Wellington was stuffed into a sack and herded onto a carriage.
He shouted loudly. He knew perhaps some passersby had heard him, but who would care? Who would care if a little beggar, a Child of Darkness, was abducted?
Without them, the city would be a little cleaner.
People were kidnapped in this city every day. People disappeared every day.
Even the Holy See's saints would not care if a beggar was abducted.
What they wanted was to root out Esoteric Cultist dens and gain the Goddess's Faith Points.
The more frequent the kidnappings, the easier it was for Esoteric Cultist dens to reveal themselves.
Wellington did not know how far he had been transported. Perhaps they had already left the city and arrived in a desolate wilderness without a soul in sight. He could feel that night had fallen, and the silence around him was terrifying.
After his blindfold was taken off, Wellington saw an altar.
The altar was piled with white skulls. Blazing torches splashed blood-red light everywhere, while men wearing brilliant gold masks surrounded the altar and loudly chanted something.
The uncle who had driven the carriage dragged him onto the altar.
"Any last words?"
Little Wellington did not know what would happen next. He had no concept of sacrifice, but he understood that he was about to face death. Unparalleled terror descended upon his mind.
"I... I haven't eaten cake yet," he murmured. "I haven't eaten cake yet..."
He had not eaten cake yet, so after he died, he could not enter heaven.
Wellington was not afraid of death. He knew his grandmother had been a good person all her life, so good people would surely go to heaven.
But he was a Child of Darkness. He was not a good person, and he had not eaten cake. He had not been blessed by the Holy Light, so he could not enter heaven.
Then he would not be able to reunite with his grandmother.
His grandmother had been waiting for him in heaven for six years.
Over those six years, he had kept trying to save money and stay alive. He wanted to buy a piece of cake and taste it, so that after eating it, he could go to heaven and find his grandmother. Then he could die in peace.
But his money always vanished. Perhaps the city guards had taken it, or perhaps thieves had stolen it.
He had not eaten cake yet, and he was going to die.
He was going to break his promise to his grandmother—this was what little Wellington feared most.
The priest listened to little Wellington and gave a scornful laugh.
"Boring. The Mother Goddess will not like that. You had better cry out loud. Only then will the Mother Goddess be pleased."
Wellington's shoulders trembled as he closed his eyes.
The priest was about to begin the ritual when a commotion suddenly rose outside.
He immediately sensed trouble. Could it be that the location of the hideout had been exposed?
Then one of the cultist underlings jogged over and spoke to the priest, his expression somewhat strange. "It's just a boy. No one else is with him."
"A boy?" The priest's eyes widened.
"Yes." The cultist paused, his expression growing stranger. "He says he wants to join our orgy."
"Also, I can sense that the Dark Element on him is quite strong."
The priest soon saw the boy.
Several Esoteric Cultists escorted him inside. He was wrapped in a thick padded coat and gray trousers, dressed rather bloatedly, with a cold-weather hood over his head. He had a very wise-looking face and eyes that revealed several hints of clear, intelligent wisdom.
"Count me in."
He looked shy and polite. As soon as he entered, he rubbed his hands together and gave an ingratiating smile. "One is a sacrifice, two are sacrifices too..."
What kind of hero's getup was this?
The priest was almost angered into laughter.
Did this brat think this was fun? Exciting?
"What is your name?" the priest asked.
"Hmm, I like sacrifices. They seem pretty interesting. My dream is to become the Holy See's pope when I grow up."
The boy thought for a moment, then said, "Just call me Xian Zong."
Xian Zong?
What an arrogant name.
The priest felt that this child was making a fool of him.
His anger instantly flared. "Fine, fine, Xian Zong. Come here."
After doing this work for so many years, this was the first time he had ever seen someone voluntarily come to his door to be sacrificed!
He had no respect whatsoever for his profession!
Who cared whether there was some trick to this?
If he did not sacrifice this brat today, then he had lived all these years for nothing!
He had his underlings prepare the materials and drove him to stand beside Wellington.
Wellington stared at the newcomer. "Are you a Child of Darkness too? Have you eaten cake?"
"Cake?" The person froze.
"Because we're sinners." Wellington said, "Only by eating cake can we go to heaven."
"Have you ever stolen anything?" the person asked.
"No."
"Have you ever robbed someone of money?"
"No."
"Then why do you think you're a sinner?"
"Because... they say we're guilty."
"I don't think we are guilty."
Xian Zong turned back, his eyes hidden beneath the hood and reflecting dazzling light.
"Kid, you are not guilty. They are the guilty ones. You should live more boldly and with your head held high."
He spoke softly.
"Now close your eyes and cover your ears. Enya, use concealment magic to block his five senses—count sixty seconds in your heart. Yes, just like that. Once you leave here, go to Morningstar Manor and ask the steward for a piece of cake. They will give you one, understand?"
"Yes, close your eyes and cover your ears like that. Be good, and don't open your eyes no matter what."
"I have come to sacrifice their sins."
For some reason, Wellington chose to believe him. He closed his eyes, covered his ears, and silently counted down in his heart.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
"..."
Wellington did not know what was happening around him. He faintly heard the boy's low chant, but could not make out what he was saying.
The silence around him was terrifying.
Wellington finally counted to sixty and opened his eyes.
He found that everything around him had disappeared.
Those terrifying men had vanished without a trace. Cold moonlight coated the altar, as though layer after layer of silver frost covered it.
The older brother beside him had vanished too. In his place was a small pouch of coins.
That sharp coat, those handsome padded trousers, and that plain, unadorned face carrying a faint hint of clear, intelligent wisdom were deeply branded into little Wellington's mind, as distinct as fireflies in the night.
"Brother Xian Zong...?"
A dream quietly sprouted in the boy's heart.
Thank my good brother Xi Xi for the recommendation and support. Xi Xi's book was seriously awesome back where we used to be.
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