Qi was undoubtedly a miraculous power. In the hands of monks, it could strengthen attacks, intimidate enemies, improve jumping ability, and even be cast like magic to unleash fireballs. It could be regarded as a supernatural ability similar to a spell.
Warriors, on the other hand, did not have so many flashy abilities. Their use of qi had only one simple effect: healing injuries.
Though it lacked creativity, this ability was still highly practical. Sometimes, there was no time to drink a healing potion on the battlefield, but qi could be activated instantly and heal injuries equivalent to nearly an entire large healing potion.
It could be said that each use saved twenty gold coins.
But Du Pont was somewhat dissatisfied.
He had hoped to comprehend Action Surge, but this qi ability had gotten in the way. If he wanted to comprehend the warrior class on his own now, he would need at least 2,500 gold coins; otherwise, he would have to save up 2,000 Experience Points and choose warrior when he leveled up.
Using Experience Points directly to gain a second class was no different from killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. If he did that, he would never again be able to use a small amount of Experience Points to improve a multiclass profession. In terms of cost-effectiveness, it was not even as good as being a pure spellcaster, which would also avoid the Experience Point penalties brought by multiclassing.
But where was he supposed to get that much money?
What about buying books and teaching himself?
He could afford it now that he had a little money saved up, since it cost only a tenth as much. But even with every book available, learning a new profession himself would probably take several months, perhaps even a year. That would make him no different from the natives.
Warriors under the old system were not so troublesome. They had neither fighting styles nor qi, but mastering two combat feats would not be much easier than meeting these requirements. And they would not gain Action Surge, the core ability that changed a warrior's fate. Doing that would be like turning back the clock, completely not worth it.
As he pondered, the confessional door opened again. No one appeared; only that emotionless summons rang out. "Next."
Room Three was also the last room here. Du Pont opened its door humbly once again, but this time, his pupils contracted.
He had seen those high heels before.
But this time, the "sinner" seemed not to recognize Du Pont at all and merely said lightly, "Lead the way."
After escorting the third guest inside, Du Pont found another Platinum Coin in his hand. As he played with the coin, still warm from its owner, his thoughts became a mess.
Though he had no precise information, judging from the way the first two spoke and the intelligence he had seen, this confessional was clearly entirely different from those open to the public. Rather than coming here to repent, these "sinners" had come to this church to conduct certain secret affairs.
That much was obvious from the fact that none of them had left through the entrance.
But if that was the case, why had someone like him, who had little to do with the church, been brought here?
Frowning slightly, Du Pont thought of one possibility.
Perhaps the key was precisely that he had little to do with the church and normally would not know any of these people.
Judging by how this confessional was arranged, none of the "sinners" wanted to encounter the others. They came here to "repent," but they also demanded absolute privacy. Only with that guaranteed would they confess to the priest inside the confessional.
Under such circumstances, someone was needed to guide them and prevent them from running into one another. Someone like him—weak, young, and without a background—was naturally suitable for this intermediary reception work. Moreover, he showed his face throughout the entire process. If anything went wrong, these "sinners" could conveniently hold him accountable. And should problems arise, he could serve as a witness and provide the most effective and genuine third-party information.
Once he understood, Du Pont could not help cursing inwardly.
No wonder they were so generous with their tips. If something happened, his personal safety might genuinely be at risk. Dorothy's warning really was not something he could forget a single word of.
Yet despite how unlikely it was, he had actually recognized the third sinner.
He did not know many people. And since he was guiding them without covering his face, anyone could find out who he was. Would Sinner Number Three take her anger out on him later?
As Du Pont pondered this, the door opened again. Still, no one came out. Only that calm voice spoke. "You may leave now. Remember to return the holy symbol to the priest who received you."
It had not taken long, around ten minutes.
Du Pont got up and left. When he stepped out of the reception hall, the warm sunlight made his body feel warm. He raised a hand to shield his forehead.
He had only come out to earn some money through work-study. Whether they were plotting or confessing, they had better not drag him into it.
But when he returned, Du Pont did not see Dorothy. He saw only the silver-haired girl who had looked familiar earlier. Looking into her pure eyes, Du Pont inexplicably felt guilty. Especially after he handed her the holy symbol, she merely nodded at him before slipping away, as though even speaking to him was an enormous waste of time.
Was this church really that busy?
Du Pont opened the changing room door and was about to take off his robe when he suddenly heard a somewhat eerie male voice.
"Do you wish to face your fear?"
Du Pont was instantly shocked upon hearing those words.
Holy shit, I had already transmigrated to Faerûn. How could the Main God Space still exist?
"Do you wish to overcome your weakness?"
Du Pont said nothing. He merely scanned the roughly twenty-square-meter changing room vigilantly, trying to determine where the voice was coming from.
But at that moment, Du Pont felt his mind growing hazy. An invisible force seemed to seize control of his heart and bind him in place.
The strange thing was that he was alone, yet the male voice behind him continued chanting an odd poem.
"Beautiful youth, I am a servant of The Lady, an angel who has come to the mortal world to help you."
"I sensed your confusion and, honoring The Lady's will, came specially to the mortal world to seek your trace."
"Do not try to find me. I do not exist in reality. Your consciousness is where I reside at this moment. I am a divine messenger, I am a gift, I am the fear you are about to conquer."
"Open your heart to me, faithful believer of The Lady." The voice came closer and closer, until it seemed to reach his back. It pulled off Du Pont's half-removed robe. "Do not be afraid. This is merely a small trial. I will bring you The Lady's grace, open the restraints that once bound you, and grant you an entirely new understanding of this world."
As he spoke, a hand settled on Du Pont's shoulder. In the candlelight, a man's figure suddenly appeared. Looking at the beautiful youth before him, he could not help swallowing.
Most apprentices at the Mage Academy were physically unfit. It was truly rare to find one so handsome with such a good body.
Suggestion really was a useful divine spell.
"Submit, beautiful youth. You will receive glory and grace. Under The Lady's gaze, you will gain new authority." The man continued his hypnosis, his fingers impatient to strip off the youth's underwear. But before he could succeed, his toes were suddenly pierced by agonizing pain. The pain made him drop to his knees, and the concentration he had struggled to maintain for his spellcasting was completely broken. He looked up and saw a pair of icy pupils reddened with rage.
"You picked the wrong target, idiot!" Du Pont grabbed the man's hair and yanked up the pervert's body as he collapsed in pain. Without the slightest hesitation, Du Pont drew the ritual dagger at his waist and slashed it across the man's neck.
Silver flashed, and blood sprayed. The man in priestly robes fell to the ground, clutching the wound in his neck with both hands. He spat blood foam as he tried to cast a divine spell, but just as a glow filled with life was about to appear, Du Pont stepped on his neck from behind and forced the nearly completed incantation back down his throat.
"Die, bastard!"
Before you continue