The Danton Church occupied a district of Aitland City.
Its streets were not particularly prosperous, but they housed many residents, spreading in every direction from the church's cathedral at their center.
Qin Ran walked down the street.
Without consulting any more records, he could imagine what the Danton Church had looked like at its height.
Not only had tens of thousands of believers lived around it, but it had also owned fields and farms, making it practically a self-sufficient little town.
Had it continued to grow, it would surely have become a church city of staggering proportions.
Unfortunately...
Three great wars, a hundred years of hardship.
Without the protection of its knights, the Danton Church's power had steadily declined.
Rather than expanding, its influence had shrunk step by step, until the rising city of Aitland had supplanted and absorbed it, reducing it to a single district.
And not even the largest or most prosperous one.
Still, some things had survived.
Its architecture and traditions.
As Qin Ran walked through the streets, he saw people observing the Danton Church's customs everywhere.
Adults and children alike stood before their stone houses, smiling and offering greetings.
Even with strangers, they were generous with their smiles.
Without the presences lurking nearby, it would have been a truly admirable scene.
As Qin Ran passed these friendly people, a cold gleam flashed in the shadows beside the street.
A figure appeared behind Qin Ran at a speed ordinary people could not even follow, thrusting a dagger straight at his neck.
Meanwhile, the passerby who had smiled at Qin Ran just a moment earlier now bared a vicious expression.
A dagger of the same design stabbed toward Qin Ran's ribs.
A thick, foul, bloody stench wafted from both daggers.
A series of check notifications appeared across Qin