Preliminary Digestion

In a house in the East Borough, an area effectively controlled by the Lyman Gang.

"Despair."

Oliver placed the bowl on the table; he had finished the oatmeal porridge inside.

"If that's not enough, we can add a little more."

The old woman in charge of the meals smiled gently and said to him.

"I'm stuffed."

Oliver lowered his head and answered quietly.

He had not forgotten his days at the orphanage, where if anyone dared to ask for more porridge, the supervisor would yell and curse them as a "greedy pig" and a "despicable robber," and they would be locked in a dark room to reflect on their actions.

Oliver was worried that asking for an extra serving would leave a bad impression on the seemingly kind lady. He was now under the Your Excellency of that "Missionary," and he didn't yet know the other's temperament and character, so he could only try to behave well and make sure no one disliked him.

That's right, Oliver has been bought.

In fact, this wasn't the first time he'd been sold.

The children in the orphanage were a considerable asset. They were like livestock in a pen, and every now and then, different people would come to inspect them and buy some. The cutest boys and girls were the easiest to take away; those who were nimble and agile would be bought by gangsters and trained to be thieves; even the least desirable ones were welcomed by coal mines and cleaning companies.

--Of course, procedurally speaking, they were all adopted in a compliant manner.

For this reason, the director of the orphanage often praised himself as a "kind-hearted person" who gave these "forsaken by God" orphans a way to survive.

Oliver was fairly good-looking, but because he argued with his supervisor, he was assigned to a cleaning company. His short stature was perfect for cleaning chimneys, and he had to work for more than ten hours a day in the narrow, dark chimneys.

He was so tired that he didn't tie the rope properly when he went down, and he accidentally fell and broke his arm. He thought he would be abandoned and die on the streets, but to his surprise, the foreman sent him to see a gentleman with magical powers. After this noble gentleman healed his arm, he actually bought him.

"Cough cough."

Just then, a burning and tingling sensation came from his lungs, causing Oliver to cough involuntarily.

"How are you?"

The old woman looked worried.

"I'm fine! Cough cough."

Oliver quickly said, suppressing his cough and trying to straighten his body, "Please don't worry, cough cough."

The coal dust from the chimney completely ruined his lungs, causing him to cough frequently, breathe rapidly, and greatly reduce his ability to work. The cleaning company foreman called him a piece of trash. He was afraid that he would also be considered useless here, so even though he was in great pain, he forced himself to endure it.

"."

The old woman seemed to want to say something, but after opening her mouth, she remained silent.

What kind of emotion did she see in her eyes—pity, sympathy?

Oliver looked somewhat bewildered.

He had never seen a similar expression on the faces of the adults around him; when they faced him, they usually only showed Indifference and disgust.

"Mother."

Just then, a young man pushed a cart into the kitchen. The cart was piled high with freshly baked bread. "This is today's portion. I brought it all to you. How are you today? Is working in the kitchen tiring?"

He seemed very energetic, chatting with his elderly mother as he unloaded the bread.

Mother

Oliver listened to the unfamiliar words and watched the interaction between the young man and the old woman. The orphanage director told him that his mother died after giving birth to him, and as for his father, there was no way of knowing.

"Good boy, go next door after you're done eating."

After exchanging a few words with her son, the old woman turned to him, her smile still gentle, "Your Excellency Missionary, you are waiting for me."

"Oh"

Oliver stood up uneasily and slowly walked outside.

The kind man saved him in an incredible way, but he still felt inexplicably afraid.

The room next door was dimly lit. Oliver walked in, and after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the gentleman sitting Rian in the chair.

He appeared to be resting with his eyes closed.

"Gentlemen."

Oliver greeted him quietly.

"You're here?"

The other person woke up, their blue eyes flashing in the darkness.

"Drink it."

The blue-eyed man handed a small bottle to Oliver.

". OK."

Oliver had no choice but to take it and drink it.

The liquid in the bottle was a little numbing and bitter, but after swallowing it, my body gradually felt warm and light, as if I were enveloped by clouds in the sky.

"Sir, what is this?"

He felt so relaxed, so he asked vaguely.

It's something that will give you sweet dreams.

Luther replied softly, "You won't cough anymore after you wake up."

Is such a good thing really possible?

Oliver didn't know, but more than wanting to stop coughing, he hoped to see his mother and be given a gentle hug by her.

He quickly fell asleep.

Luther underwent a minor surgery.

The lungs are delicate and crucial organs. If they are Corrosion by impurities, it will gradually cause pain, leading to despair and eventual suffocation. With the current medical technology in Backlund, it is essentially impossible to save a person.

But Luther is an extraordinary being, the Rose Bishop renowned for his Flesh and Blood Magic. All he needs to do is anesthetize the patient, sustain his life, and "cleanse" his lungs.

The Rose Bishop's abilities could truly heal many people, but the Cultist only used them to create Flesh Bomb.

We should all thank that damned evil god at the top for his protection.

Luther silently praised the True Creator, ended the treatment, let the patient continue to sleep, and then walked out of the room and out of the house.

"Your Excellency Missionary!"

People on the street were busy, but when they saw him come out, they stopped what they were doing, smiled, and greeted him.

"Um."

Luther smiled, feeling the "Shepherd" Potion within his body gradually being digested.

These Lamb, having been "fed" by him, are slowly acknowledging him as the leader of the Flock.

But that's not enough.

The slow progress of digestion indicates two things: first, the Flock is not large enough; second, his Acting cannot stop at the most basic task of maintaining the Flock, he needs to explore the essence corresponding to the name of the Potion more deeply.

For Shepherd, besides tending their Flock, what other important tasks are there?

Luther recalled the experience of that professional Shepherd.

Protect the Flock and guide the Lamb?

Protection is simple, but as for guidance, that might be related to missionary work.

It's about time we started formally proselytizing.

Luther thought to himself, then looked up at the crowd.

"Everyone, you can gather together now."

He said.