The Story Behind

When the Archbishop emerged from the Vault with Alice's support, his complexion had improved considerably.

The golden liquid worked even better than expected.

His voice still carried a hint of weariness, "The seal is only a temporary measure. I need time to study that magic circle and find a way to completely destroy it."

Old Morgan nodded, his gaze falling on the Viscount not far away.

The Viscount was exhausted. He knelt on one knee, supporting himself with his longsword, and gasped for breath.

His silver armor was full of cracks and dents, his face was ashen, but his eyes were surprisingly calm.

"Bring him here," the Archbishop said coldly.

Two Holy Armor Army soldiers stepped forward, lifted the Viscount, and brought him before Old Morgan and the Archbishop.

"Viscount," the Archbishop's voice was devoid of warmth, "What about the things in the underground Vault?"

The Viscount raised his head, looked at the Archbishop and Old Morgan, remained silent for a moment, and then gave a bitter smile.

I want a promotion.

His voice was hoarse, but he didn't shy away.

"Third Order... I've been stuck at Third Order for far too long. A few months ago, someone contacted me posing as an imperial envoy, saying that the Empire had noticed my predicament and was willing to offer assistance."

The Viscount paused, then continued:

He gave me a batch of "promotion tools" and told me to use them in a specific way.

"So you smuggled those things into the inner city?" Old Morgan said coldly.

"Yes," the Viscount did not deny it, "I set up a magic array in the underground Vault and performed the ritual according to his instructions. But I didn't expect..."

He looked at the corroded ground in the City Hall Square, a hint of lingering fear flashing in his eyes.

"I didn't expect it would tear open Rift."

"What about that secret letter?" the Archbishop asked.

"It's in a hidden compartment in my study," the Viscount said frankly. "You can go and get it."

He took a deep breath, his expression becoming complicated.

"To be honest... that letter was fake. I knew it a long time ago, and there wasn't any useful information on it."

"What?" The Archbishop narrowed his eyes.

"I've seen the imperial seal far too many times," the Viscount said with a wry smile. "The ink on that letter was wrong; it was a forgery. I noticed it as soon as the package arrived."

"Since you know it's fake, you still dare to use it?" Old Morgan's voice turned cold.

"I was clinging to a sliver of hope." The Viscount paused for a moment, then raised his head, a hint of self-mockery flashing in his eyes.

"I think even if the letter is fake, those other things aren't necessarily all problematic. After all... to be able to obtain promotion tools of this level, the other party must have their own purpose."

"If I'm careful and take proper Protective Barrier, maybe I can take that step."

"So you set up an Isolation array in the Vault?" Old Morgan asked.

"Yes." The Viscount simply nodded. "I specifically hired three Inscription Studies and spent two months setting up multiple layers of Protective Barrier. I believe those Protective Barrier are sufficient."

He lowered his head, his voice becoming weak.

"But I was wrong; that thing's power far exceeded my expectations."

Old Morgan and the Archbishop exchanged a glance.

The Viscount is not a fool.

As Third Order Transcendence being and the chosen one of the Empire, he possessed his own judgment and had made the necessary preparations.

However, he underestimated the methods of the Deep Sea Church and overestimated his own abilities.

His obsession with promotion blinded him.

"Regardless," the Viscount took a deep breath, straightened his body, and though he swayed precariously, maintained a noble bearing, "This was my fault. My foolishness and greed nearly caused the deaths of so many people."

He looked at the Archbishop, his expression calm.

"I am willing to accept any punishment."

The Archbishop remained silent for a moment, about to speak.

Old Morgan asked first, "By the way, where is Dr. Bulin?"

The Viscount paused slightly, "Bulin?"

"That very famous doctor in the inner city," Old Morgan stared at him, "Have you seen him recently?"

"No." The Viscount frowned. "I haven't seen him for several days. What's wrong?"

The Archbishop looked at Old Morgan: "What's wrong with this man?"

"There might be a problem." Old Morgan didn't explain further, turning to the Holy Armor Army soldiers beside him and saying, "Search Dr. Bulin's Clinic and residence, and bring him to me immediately."

The Holy Armor Army obeyed and departed.

The Archbishop glanced at Old Morgan, but didn't press the matter. He then turned to the Viscount and said:

"You are an imperial noble, a chosen one of the empire. According to imperial law, I have no right to judge you. However, you will be placed under house arrest until the imperial authorities handle your case."

He paused, then added, "The defense of the inner city will now be taken over by the Church."

The Viscount nodded, offering no objection.

"Take him away."

Two Holy Armor Army soldiers lifted the Viscount and took him away.

Old Morgan watched the Viscount's figure disappear into the night, then took out his pipe from his pocket.

"What about the Outer City?" the Archbishop asked.

"The priests of the Deep Sea Church have been killed." Old Morgan lit his pipe. "My men are cleaning up the rest. Casualties are high, but still manageable."

The Archbishop remained silent for a moment.

"This time... we've won?"

Old Morgan took a deep drag on his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the distant sea.

The sky had darkened, thick clouds obscured the moonlight, and the waves crashed against the rocks with a deep roar.

"On the surface, yes."

He exhaled a puff of smoke, a barely perceptible worry flashing in his cloudy eyes.

But something still feels off.

The Archbishop glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Old Morgan flicked his cigarette ash, "The Deep Sea Church has been operating in Grim Port for so many years, and tonight they've come out in full force, and what's the result?"

His gaze deepened.

"The priests of the Outer City have been killed, the Anchor Point of the inner city have been sealed by you, and the Viscount has been captured. All their plans have failed."

The Archbishop frowned. "You think it's going too smoothly?"

"It wasn't going too smoothly," Old Morgan shook his head. "I just didn't understand what they were trying to do."

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, his gaze becoming profound.

"Look at what they've done: Contamination, spreading Mutation, tearing open the Rift... They shout 'Mother' while their hands are filled with the Contamination of the people, destroying Grim's order."

"But what is the purpose of this destruction?"

Old Morgan looked at the Archbishop, his eyes filled with confusion.

"If their goal was simply to kill, they could have used much more covert methods."

"If it's for a sacrifice, tonight's scale is far from enough. If it's to summon something, that spine can only create a Rift at most; it can't summon anything real."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"So I've been wondering, what was the purpose of tonight's big commotion, or... a cover-up?"

The Archbishop's expression changed, clearly indicating a bad premonition.

"You mean, tonight might just be a smokescreen?"

"I'm not sure," Old Morgan sighed, "But your church should have information on the Deep Sea Church."

"They've been operating in Grim Port for so many years, they can't possibly only have these tricks up their sleeves. Will they really accept being wiped out tonight?"

The Archbishop did not answer.

He had read the church's documents countless times. The Deep Sea Church had existed for an exceptionally long time and was classified as a typical cult, but the danger they were currently posing clearly far exceeded the descriptions in the documents.

Hopefully, Old Morgan is just overthinking things.

Neither of them spoke; only the sea breeze howled past, bringing with it a salty, fishy smell.

In the square, the Holy Armor Army began clearing the battlefield.

The soldiers carried away the bodies of the Mutation individuals, preparing to burn them in one go.

Several wounded soldiers were taken to a nearby Medical District for treatment, their low groans echoing in the night wind.

Just then, the soldiers who had been sent out earlier returned.

"Report!" the Holy Armor Army returned and said, "Dr. Bulin's Clinic is closed, and no one is home. The neighbors say he disappeared three days ago."