The Priest Who Was Arrogant Before and Deferential After

The carriage left behind the suffocating slums of Old Mine Street, following the inner ring onto the broad and straight Truth Avenue that led directly to Cain Wizard Tower, heading south all the way.

This was the outer ring district of Lion City, and also the area where Tylen usually spent most of his time.

Compared to the dilapidated chaos of the outskirts, the streets of the outer ring were noticeably wider, paved with neat blue stone slabs.

On both sides were no longer the ramshackle illegal structures that might collapse at any moment, but uniformly planned five-to-eight-story row houses built of stone.

These buildings bore the typical revival style of the Third Era, with exterior walls made of gray-white stone, narrow windows, and simple geometric reliefs for decoration.

Downstairs were bustling shops: alchemy material stores, low-tier potion shops, and even tailor shops specializing in selling second-hand wizard robes.

The passersby were decently dressed, mostly skilled craftsmen, small merchants, or low-rank apprentices like Tylen.

The air lacked that lingering smell of coal smoke, replaced by a mix of baked bread and spices.

Tylen drove the carriage, skillfully weaving through the bustling crowd, and after reaching the fifth intersection, turned the carriage westward.

Soon, a building with a pointed bell tower came into view.

It was a medium-sized church, its gray stone walls covered in dark red ivy, giving it a solemn and oppressive feel.

Behind the church lay a vast cemetery, with tilted tombstones like uneven teeth stuck into the black soil.

This was Saint Rest Church under the Church of the Heavenly Father, and the largest funeral center in the area.

Tylen jumped off the carriage, straightened his robe, and fixed his gaze on a figure standing at the church entrance.

It was a middle-aged man in a black clerical robe, built as sturdy as a butcher, not tall but exuding a solid, oppressive presence.

He had a thick, bushy beard, a square face full of worldly shrewdness, completely lacking the compassion one would expect from clergy.

Father Logan.

The priest responsible for requiems and burials in this parish, and an acquaintance of Tylen's, though their previous encounters had not been pleasant.

"Holy Father above, it is an honor to bask in Your grace, Father Logan."

Tylen stepped forward, wearing an impeccable smile, and performed a standard church salute.

Father Logan was picking his teeth. Hearing the voice, he lazily lifted his eyelids and glanced at Tylen.

"Hmph."

He snorted through his nose, not even raising his hand, utterly dismissive.

"It's you. That corpse-collecting apprentice from Cain Tower."

Logan naturally remembered this kid.

That dull pauper had once tried to discuss a corpse recycling business with him, but completely failed to pick up on his hints. No money, and he wanted to do business? Logan had kicked him out on the spot.

"What now? If you're here to peddle your pathetic little business, get lost."

Tylen didn't get angry; instead, his smile grew even brighter. He stepped closer and lowered his voice:

"Father misunderstands. Today, I'm here to patronize your business."

He pointed to the carriage behind him.

"I have a poor elderly couple here, hoping to be buried in the church's public cemetery, so they may find peace."

"Their dying wish is to be buried together. I ask Father to grant this convenience."

Logan glanced at the body bags on the carriage and sneered:

"The public cemetery only has single plots. Where do you get 'buried together'? That's reserved for the noble lords."

"Four hundred Purple Gold Coins for one, eight hundred for two. Not a single coin less."

Though that was the rule, there was actually considerable room for manipulation.

But the smile on Tylen's face didn't waver in the slightest.

"Father is merciful."

He stepped forward, enthusiastically grasping Logan's rough hand with both of his.

"I beg the merciful Father to bestow the Holy Father's blessing, granting this poor couple a resting place."

Logan frowned, instinctively trying to pull his hand back.

This poor kid had quite a grip?

But the next moment, his movement stopped.

A familiar sensation reached his palm.

It was a roll of banknotes.

His fingertip lightly brushed over the subtle raised anti-counterfeiting printing on the surface. As a seasoned "clergyman," Logan instantly identified its denomination—100 Purple Gold Coins.

Logan's expression shifted.

He casually withdrew his hand, smoothly sliding the roll of banknotes into his wide sleeve, the motion fluid and practiced, clearly a skill honed over thousands of repetitions.

"Ahem."

Logan cleared his throat, forcing a professional, fake smile onto his usually cold face.

"This kid... finally gets it," he thought to himself.

Seeing this, Tylen pressed his advantage: "Just bury them together. Even if it's a bit cramped, that's fine. I can contribute 500 Purple Gold Coins as a requiem fee, a donation to the Church's restoration fund."

500 Purple Gold Coins. Added to the 100 he'd just slipped over, that made 600. After handing over the required 300 to the Church, Logan could pocket a tidy sum himself.

Logan looked Tylen up and down. The young man before him was still wearing that same linen apprentice robe, but his entire demeanor had changed. That calm composure, that seasoned shrewdness, and that practiced hand when handing over money—it was like a veteran who'd been playing the game for years.

"Could this kid have been possessed by some old monster? Half a month ago, he was a completely different person," Logan muttered inwardly, but the thought vanished as quickly as it came. Whether he was possessed or had suddenly wised up, as long as the Purple Gold Coins were real, that was all that mattered.

"Since you are so devout, the Holy Father will naturally forgive their sins." Logan quickly pocketed the additional 500 Purple Gold Coins Tylen handed over, his attitude doing a complete one-eighty. "Follow me. We'll take the side entrance."

The church's backyard. It was a typical medieval-style cemetery. Tall black iron railings separated it from the outside world, and a few verdant pine trees stood straight and tall, casting dappled shadows. Dense rows of tombstones stretched out like a gray forest, the air thick with the smell of soil and decaying flowers.

Father Logan was greedy, but his professional skills were undeniable. A wide oak coffin had already been set to one side. The wood was average, but it was polished smooth. Requiem oils, a silver bell, and holy water were all laid out.

"Pick a spot," Logan said, pointing to the open area ahead.

Tylen looked around, finally pointing to a corner near the west side. A few unknown wildflowers grew there, and the noon sun happened to shine through the gaps in the leaves, casting a rare, bright, and peaceful light. "Right there."

Logan waved his hand. Four burly men wearing white, pointed masks that only revealed their eyes walked over with shovels. They were gravediggers specially trained by the Church—immensely strong and taciturn. In just ten minutes, a deep, neatly dug grave pit was ready.

Tylen walked to the wagon and gently untied the body bags. He carefully lifted out Old Jack and Granny Linda's bodies, placing them tenderly into the oak coffin. The two bodies lay side by side. Their faces were withered, but their expressions were peaceful. Tylen thought for a moment, then reached out and lifted Old Jack's thin, bony arm, gently placing it over Granny Linda's shoulder, making them look like they were forever embracing.

"This way, they won't be cold," Tylen murmured, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes.

Then, the coffin lid was closed, and iron nails were hammered in. The four gravediggers lifted the coffin and slowly lowered it into the pit. Father Logan stood at the edge of the grave, shaking the silver bell in his hand.

Ding-ling—Ding-ling—

The crisp sound of the bell echoed through the silent cemetery.

"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the spirit returns to the Heavenly Father..." Logan muttered the rites, expertly dripping a few drops of oil onto the coffin lid and sprinkling a handful of holy water.

As the soil was backfilled, the coffin gradually disappeared from sight. In this public cemetery where every inch of land cost a fortune, no one was allowed to erect a headstone without paying extra. This spot would soon be leveled flat, and in the future, a new corpse would be buried here. But Tylen simply couldn't afford to set up a headstone right now. He stood before the freshly turned earth and bowed deeply three times.

"Uncle Jack."

He murmured in his heart.

"May you and your wife find peace and tranquility in that eternal death."

"May you love each other as deeply as ever in the cycles of reincarnation."

"May your next life be free from the suffering and torment of this one."

The wind rustled through the treetops, whispering like the final murmurs of the departed.

The funeral ended, and the gravediggers dispersed.

Tylen didn't rush to leave. He walked over with a smile to Father Logan, who was packing up his ritual tools, and pulled him into a secluded corner.

"Father, there's one more small favor I'd like to ask of you."

Logan shot him a sidelong glance. "Speak."

Tylen lowered his voice and said quickly:

"I need two specific corpses."

"First, an infant under one year old, dead no more than twenty-four hours."

"Second, an ordinary person who died from an overdose of alchemical medicine, dead no more than ten hours."

Logan's hands paused mid-motion. He turned his head, his expression turning intrigued.

When it came to knowing the dead in this area, no one could match him, the priest in charge of burials.

To prevent corpse mutations, any death in a household had to be reported to The Church immediately.

So he was the first to know which family had lost a child, which addict had overdosed.

This kid—he really wasn't here just for the funeral.

"These demands..."

Logan deliberately dragged out his tone, putting on a troubled face.

"Are a bit harsh."

"Especially the one who died from the medicine—it has to retain the drug reaction. That's not easy to find."

Tylen caught on at once. He slid another 100-denomination Purple Gold Coin from his sleeve and pressed it into Logan's hand.

"I know you're resourceful, Father. There's nothing in this area you don't know."

Tylen flattered with a smile, then threw out his bargaining chip:

"This material is urgently needed by my senior sister, Violet Star."

"If you help out this time, next time my senior sister has a need, I'll come straight to you."

"You know as well as I do—at my senior sister's level, money really isn't an issue."

At the name "Violet Star," Logan's lips curled into a sneer of contempt.

Who was Violet Star? The genius of Cain Tower, the prized disciple of Lord Makley.

And you?

"Ha."

Logan didn't bother hiding his disdain. He looked Tylen up and down like he was sizing up an arrogant toad.

"A bottom-feeding stray dog like you can get in touch with Lady Violet Star?"

"Kid, you'd better think before you brag. Don't think a little money makes you a big shot."

Faced with such blatant humiliation, Tylen's smile didn't waver in the slightest.

Not even a flicker in his eyes.

He simply reached out slowly, unhurriedly, and pulled something from the inner pocket close to his chest.

It was a token the size of a palm.

Made of brownish-yellow metal, with a roaring lion embossed on the front, glinting coldly in the sunlight.

"You jest, Father."

Tylen toyed with the token in his hand, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather:

"I've recently gained some recognition from my mentor and attended a few of his lessons."

"The mentor is gracious and has granted me a basic level of trust, letting me run some errands."

The moment Logan's gaze landed on the token, his pupils dilated sharply.

That was... a Cain Tower Personal Token?!

As a veteran who had navigated this area for years, he knew exactly what that thing meant.

It wasn't just proof of identity—it represented the will of a full-fledged wizard!

Anyone capable of obtaining this is no ordinary registered apprentice!

This kid... is he really one of Makley's men?!

The contempt on Logan's face vanished without a trace, replaced by a mix of shock, surprise, and rapidly assembled sycophancy.

His face-changing speed was faster than flipping through a book.

"Oh my! So that's how it is! So that's how it is!"

Father Logan rubbed his hands together, his smile so sincere that Tylen might as well have been his long-lost brother.

"I knew it! Magnus, I always felt you had immense potential—sharp and clever, destined for great things!"

"See, my judgment was spot on!"

He even patted Tylen's shoulder warmly, completely forgetting his earlier remark about "a stray dog from the gutter."

"Come, come, tell me that request again."

Logan leaned in close to Tylen, lowering his voice with an air of insider camaraderie:

"Infants under a year old, drug-addled junkies who OD'd, right?"

"Leave it to me! I'll check the records right now! I'll get you the best price!"

"With our relationship, would I let you take a loss?"

Tylen watched the priest's abrupt shift from arrogance to servility, finding it quietly amusing.

In this world, power and influence truly were the most useful tools.

"Then I'll trouble you, Father."

Tylen put away the token, his smile still gentle.

"I'll await your good news. I have other matters to attend to."