A Meeting of Transmigrators

North Borough, St. Samuel Cathedral.

A mass was underway.

"They were naked, without clothing or food, exposed to the cold with nothing to cover them."

A clergyman stood at the pulpit before the holy emblem. Darkness enveloped him, while the radiance of the stars outlined his silhouette.

His features were indistinguishable. Only his gentle, clear voice echoed through the cathedral.

"They were drenched by heavy rain and clung to the rock because they had nowhere to take shelter."

"They were mothers whose children had been taken away, orphans who had lost hope, and poor people forced from the righteous path."

Rows upon rows of pews stood opposite the pulpit. Many people sat in them with their heads bowed, Listening to the bishop's sermon. There were well-dressed gentlemen and ladies among them, as well as plainly dressed citizens. The poorer ones were clearly more devout, clutching their crude holy emblems tightly as the preacher spoke.

Luther stood on the second floor, looking down at the crowd.

He merged with the darkness.

"Night had not abandoned them. It had bestowed its favor upon them."

"Night cared for them and granted them peace..."

The cathedral's architecture had been cleverly designed to make sound reverberate and overlap, booming beside everyone's ears. Combined with the clergyman's skillful sermon, his precise rhythm and heartfelt delivery made it difficult not to resonate with him spiritually.

Luther lowered his gaze to watch them.

Even though he had now become one of the Church's upper ranks, he still possessed no faith. Yet he could not deny that, at this moment, everyone below was treated fairly. From wealthy tycoons to ordinary citizens, all received the Goddess's equal care.

Perhaps, to her, there was no distinction between believers.

The Goddess did not care about the social class of her believers, but