However much the matter of the apostles set Mulan's imagination wandering, it gradually faded from his mind.
Time flew by. Mulan's life in Digo seemed to have returned to his high school days. He devoted much of his time and energy to studying, never slackened in his physical training, and still handled cases for the York District police station.
A small district police station rarely encountered genuine supernatural incidents. In fact, apart from that first case, the few subsequent cases that seemed to brush against the supernatural all turned out to be false alarms or people using it as a cover for other crimes.
But Mulan handled cases far more efficiently than the York District station's existing detectives. Part of that came from his way of thinking, and part from his status. When difficulties involving nobles arose, Mulan could intervene and negotiate, often making much faster progress than ordinary police officers who were constantly turned away at the door.
Yet Mulan lived on a tight budget-one that was visibly growing tighter by the day. Handel desperately wanted to tell Mulan to stop paying him, since he hardly needed that little bit of money, but over those two months, Mulan had never owed him a penny.
Handel was a capable young nobleman. At least, after Mulan's brief period of guidance, that had become quite clear. He took on almost half of Mulan's work, frequently ran errands for him, and paid every carriage fare himself.
Mulan was already paying Handel the bare minimum, less than any police officer at the station earned. Any less would not even cover Handel's travel expenses. He simply could not bring himself to lower it further.
In truth, though, Mulan's salary was not low. Including some under-the-table income from nobles, it amounted to the salaries of two York District chief detectives.
So where had Mulan's money gone? The answer lay in the letters sent to him.
Two months earlier, Mulan had begun writing to the families of his fallen subordinates. He had not stopped after that first day, but continued for some time afterward. Many letters never received an answer, though replies gradually began to arrive.
The soldiers who had once served under Mulan, the brothers who had trusted him and ultimately lost their lives on the battlefield-very few of their families had received death benefits. Even those who had were in much the same situation as that mother and son. Having lost their breadwinners, many of these families were struggling terribly.
Mulan was no fool. He knew an enormous network of vested interests lay behind this, one he could not uproot as he was now. Charging blindly into it would be unwise.
Nor was Mulan a saint. He could not look after the families of every fallen soldier. But he could not abandon the widows and orphans left behind by his own former subordinates, his former brothers.
When he received his first paycheck, Mulan began calculating and allocating the money, sending it to those families in batches. He also tried sending another letter to each address that had not replied. This time, there was money inside.
As a result, replies gradually began arriving from some of the addresses that had originally remained silent.
A Dierjia battalion numbered roughly a thousand men, with around two hundred directly under Mulan's command. Later, as the senior officers died or fled, the entire surviving battalion came under him. It had never been at full strength, its numbers never exceeding four hundred. In the end, seventy-seven men survived.
Using his notes and inquiries by letter, and even trying to gain access to military archives, Mulan had managed to contact only 160 families. There was still no news of the others. The families of those seventy-seven survivors were not doing well either, so Mulan helped them too, bringing the total to 237 households.
These families lived very frugally, and their expenses were not actually high, but they had almost bled Mulan dry.
In the third-floor office of the York District police station, Mulan was preparing envelopes. Both the filled and unfilled ones stood in tall stacks. Besides Handel helping at his side, even Evan had been called over to lend a hand.
"The last envelope!"
Mulan slipped several banknotes into an oiled-paper envelope and sealed it before letting out a long breath.
"Everything's been checked, right?"
"Yes, sir. Everything has been checked. Four Silver Didi in every envelope, none missed."
"Good. Sorry for the trouble, Handel, but please go mail them."
Mulan leaned back in his chair and spoke listlessly, while Handel straightened up.
"Yes, I'll take care of it right away."
With that, Handel swept all the letters into a sack. Only after repeatedly checking above and below the desk to make sure none had been missed did he open the door and leave.
Evan held his hands crossed before his chest, praying silently.
"Mulan, the True God will see everything you've done."
Mulan rested his feet on one corner of the desk, holding a magic book-a general term for books dealing with supernatural powers or containing such powers themselves-and remained rather dispirited.
"There's not much I can do. Evan, do you think Queen Nisheriel knows about this sort of thing?"
"Political matters aren't something a member of the Holy Temple like me should be thinking about."
Mulan curled his lip.
"Don't be silly. If you told me those Holy Temple archbishops who deal with the powerful figures of every country weren't involved in politics, I wouldn't believe it. They might even use those connections to punish heretics."
Evan said nothing, because he knew Mulan was speaking the truth, though such things were isolated cases.
"Really, these families are both unfortunate and very fortunate. After all, they have you helping them. But how many others are struggling with no one to turn to?"
"If you can think about things like that, then I believe you could make a good bishop. An archbishop, even. Maybe even a pope!"
At Mulan's words, Evan could no longer hold back and raised his voice.
"The Holy Temple has no such thing as a pope! Only the Grand Archbishop of Light and the Grand Holy Knight!"
"Sorry, got my channels crossed."
Mulan laughed it off. Evan could be very serious at times.
Evan sighed and glanced at the several magic books on Mulan's desk.
"Well? Have you made your choice? Which path are you going to take?"
Mulan's physical abilities had always been plain for everyone to see. A month and a half earlier, he had also taken an Awakening Potion prepared by the Black Castle, pushing his body to the pinnacle of normal human capability. He had long since met the requirements to advance to the next tier. All that remained was choosing.
After studying his case, the Black Castle had given Mulan permission to borrow three books of secret arts, books that recorded the paths in detail: the Resurrector path, the Astrologer path, and the Magician path. These were all starting titles, each leading to corresponding higher-tier supernatural beings, with relatively low risks.
According to the records, the highest known attainment of the Resurrector path was the Dawn Apostle. There was one small difficulty with this path, however: you had to die once. Only coming back to life counted as the beginning. Of every ten people who attempted this path, six or seven truly died at the very first step.
The Black Castle's assessment of Mulan was that, given his talent, his chances of success would be very high.
Astrologers possessed powers of foresight. The highest level anyone had currently worked out was the Fate Enlightener, while a branching path could also lead to Mystic.
As for Magician, it was a wild card, offering the greatest compatibility between paths. Veer one way, and you could become a Dark Alchemist; go straight ahead, and you could become a High Wizard; turn another way, and even Wraith Mage was within reach. But that versatility also meant more tiers whose transformations had to be understood, and sometimes the dangers of resonance would increase as well.
The greatest dangers involved came from the Otherworld and changes to one's own soul. The threat of the Otherworld went without saying. Walk by the river often enough, and sooner or later your shoes would get wet. It was also easier to stir changes within the chaos.
Changes within oneself, meanwhile, involved the Formative World, one of the three great worlds. They directly reflected the degree of resonance and were the source of one's strength, but required even greater care, because the smallest details would be magnified in the Formative World.
The Black Castle's books of secret arts contained detailed descriptions from beginning to end, covering the particulars of the process, its difficult points, and even the potions that could support each step and the suitable times and places.
And beyond the options offered by the Black Castle, the Dierjia royal family had not forgotten Mulan either.
Rather than enjoying the ease of a sinecure at the York District police station, Mulan had genuinely done a great deal of work. This delighted Nisheriel, and she too had sent him options.
The Dierjia royal family possessed two exclusive paths: Radiant Knight and Judge. Their shortcomings were that they had not been researched for long, so not every detail could possibly be covered, and they had not evolved very far. Yet they held enormous potential, because the power of the Dilga Empire could serve as their vehicle, greatly enhancing the ability to perfect the Formative World.
For example, when he advanced to Victory Knight, the empire's queen could use her authority to place Mulan in command of a battle he was certain to win. Then, riding the momentum of that victory, she could formally confer the title of Victory Knight upon him, greatly increasing the completeness of his Formative World and producing extremely powerful resonance.
So Mulan found himself torn. This truly was the trouble of having too many good options. Fortunately, there was no deadline for choosing, so he did not have to rush into anything.
In the office, Mulan and Evan discussed the matter for a long time, but still felt that he could first throw himself into absorbing knowledge.
When it came to paths, however, Evan's prospects were much brighter than Mulan's. His devotion to God and the firmness of his convictions had enabled him to make tremendous progress. He and the Holy Light drew one another, giving him an enviable future. He was qualified to undergo Holy Baptism, and might become a bishop overseeing a region even sooner.
When Evan told Mulan this in a calm voice, he still could not keep the corners of his mouth from lifting.
"Well, well, well! Does that mean I should congratulate His Grace Bishop Evan in advance? So, where will your jurisdiction be? This is an age of supernatural awakening, and every branch of the Holy Temple is short of supernatural people. Can you choose where you go?"
Evan smiled.
"If nothing unexpected happens, it should be Valentine."
"Oh-ho! Not bad!"
Mulan's dejection and indecision vanished, and his expression came alive. He took his feet off the desk, walked over to Evan's chair, and began massaging his shoulders.
"Your Grace Bishop Evan, is this pressure about right? If I'm reassigned by the Black Castle and get a choice, I'll pick Valentine too. Then we can look after each other, right? And perhaps get some Holy Water wholesale..."
Mulan wore a shameless grin, but before he finished speaking, someone knocked on the door.
"Knock, knock, knock..."
"Mr. Jonester, there's a very tricky case that needs your attention."
Mulan immediately became serious again.
"Come in."