One year later.
Shirley stood behind the curtains on the high platform, her fingers tightly gripping the sleeve of the ceremonial robe. Her fingertips unconsciously kept rubbing the crooked holy light flower embroidered on it.
She had stitched that flower herself about a year ago. Her needlework was so clumsy that even the newly arrived novice nuns could do better, but she just couldn’t bring herself to remove it.
Every time she saw that flower, she remembered the day she first came to the Temple.
She had stood at the entrance of the Testing Sanctum, her palms sweating from nervousness. Back then, Victor had said something to her.
“No matter what happens, tell me about it.”
She was now a Saintess at the platinum peak level.
When her wings of holy light were fully spread, they could cover the entire square. The believers fell to their knees at her feet, shouting “Saintess” at the top of their lungs, and the Elders looked at her as if she were a miracle that the Temple might not see for centuries.
Yet even at such moments, she couldn’t help touching the crooked holy light flower on her sleeve, then instinctively searching through the sea of black figures for the one always dressed in dark blue coarse cloth.
He was here.
He stood at the very edge of the crowd, holding the ceremonial robe he was supposed to hand to her later.
Shirley took a deep breath, leaned half her body out from behind the curtain, and waved vigorously in his direction.
The moment she ran over, the tips of her hair flew high in the wind, silver light gently brushing across his cheek. Then she stopped in front of him, her breath slightly quick, and looked up at him.
“Brother Victor!”
“When did you get here?”
“I went to look for you in the prayer room earlier, but you weren’t there. I thought you might not come today.”
She noticed he took half a step back.
It was a really small step, almost invisible, but she still saw it.
‘I should sigh quietly,’ she thought to herself, but she kept the brightest smile on her face as she waited for him to hand her the ceremonial robe.
“It’s your grand ceremony today—how could I not come?”
His voice was especially soft, as gentle as always, as considerate as always, and as always, maintaining a distance that was neither warm nor cold.
He said he would have to help set up the altar later and might not be able to stay with her until the end.
Shirley lowered her head and hugged the ceremonial robe tightly to her chest.
“Then after I’m done, you have to come back to find me. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Then she turned and walked toward the dressing room, never looking back.
He was actually avoiding her.
It wasn’t an obvious avoidance, but an extremely subtle one—he always stepped back half a step the moment she tried to get close.
Every time she wanted to act spoiled, he seemed to predict it and would either need to go to the Training Ground or organize the holy scripture.
Every time she wanted to steal a kiss while he was asleep, it was as if he had a sensor in his head—his eyes would snap open, and he’d look at her with an expression she couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t understand or was completely pretending not to.
“What’s wrong, Shirley?”
She couldn’t answer at all. She could only huffily turn over and ignore him.
And he would just quietly tuck the blanket around her, then walk out and gently close the door behind him.
She had actually been sulking.
Last month, she stayed angry for a whole afternoon and didn’t go see him. But the box of honey cake he sent over was still warm, and beside it was a note with her familiar handwriting.
“Don’t eat too much; you won’t have dinner later.”
She bit into the cake, touched, but even more furious inside.
He was obviously always paying attention to her, so why wouldn’t he just get closer?
But every time she wanted to ignore him, she couldn’t help herself.
She was afraid that if he felt she was being cold, he might really stop coming to find her.
She was also afraid he might think she hated him.
She was even more afraid that he actually cared.
What she feared most wasn’t that he avoided her, but that he had no idea how much she wanted to get close to him.
The cheers in the square were already deafening.
She spread her wings of holy light and stepped up onto the high platform step by step.
Countless light feathers scattered from behind her. Thousands of believers knelt on the ground, shouting, “Saintess!”
And amid the roaring cheers, she opened her mouth, her voice clear and solemn.
“May the holy light shine over the land and drive away all darkness—may the new year bring the holy light with you!”
Everyone chanted, “Long live the Saintess.”
Her light fell upon everyone present, but her gaze kept searching the edges of the crowd.
Once the banquet officially began, the Elders surrounded her.
The Da Zhanglao held her wrist, smiling as he introduced her to every noble, praising her endlessly.
Reaching platinum peak in just one year—it was a divine miracle. No Saintess in history had ever been stronger.
She maintained the most proper smile, thanking each person in turn.
Then, the moment the Da Zhanglao turned to greet the next guest, she quickly glanced back, her eyes sweeping through the clinking glasses and bustling crowd.
She searched back and forth several times, but never found that familiar figure.
Her fingers around the wine glass tightened unconsciously, then she turned back and kept the perfect Saintess smile.
She said to herself in her heart:
‘Alright, he’s gone again.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Later, he’ll definitely come knock on my door, bring me a cup of warm milk, and say:’
“Go to bed early. There’s morning prayer tomorrow.”
The moment Victor shoved the roasted meat and honey wine through the gaps in the iron bars, the old man pounced like a starving ghost.
His hands, withered like dry twigs, grabbed the meat and stuffed it into his mouth, juice splattering everywhere. He looked nothing like a prisoner who had been locked up for who knows how long.
“Hehehe—you’re here again.”
“How many times have you come to see this old man this year?”
“I’ve lost count.”
Victor leaned against the stone wall opposite him, arms crossed, quietly watching the old man gnaw half a roast chicken down to the bone.
He always brought food every time he came.
It wasn’t that he had any feelings for the old man, but he thought this excuse made it easiest to avoid suspicion.
A year had passed.
The Holy Light Prison strictly forbids unauthorized entry, but the Holy Acolyte of Her Highness the Saintess bringing food to preach the holy light? The two knights on duty just thought he was wasting time on useless things again.
“I’m done.”
The old man casually tossed the last bone into a corner, burped contentedly, and leaned back against the stone wall.
His pupils, like ghostfire, held a hint of amusement as he sized up Victor.
Victor was silent for a moment.
“Alright, go ahead. What do you want to ask this time?”
“About what level of strength I have now?”
The old man tilted his head and stared at him for a long while, then suddenly let out a hoarse, unpleasant cackle.
“You?”
“Heh, low-grade platinum stage. No one in your rank should be able to beat you.”
“I’ve never seen someone as ridiculous as you.”
“A year ago you couldn’t even tolerate holy light—you were a waste. Now you can take down anyone below platinum without breaking a sweat.”
“At your age, I hadn’t even touched magic yet.”
Victor didn’t respond to the compliment.
He looked down at his open palm.
The old scar on his hand’s web had long been covered by new skin.
A year ago, this hand couldn’t even hold a blunt sword steady.
Now, he could use dark magic to trace runes in the air.
He could feel that the fathomless dark power in the old man was far purer and more ancient than any force he could touch right now.
But the platinum rank wasn’t his end.
The old man’s voice suddenly rose, laced with a deliberately feigned grievance.
“When are you going to let me out?”
“I’m suffocating in here. Have some mercy and find a way to get me out.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re really after.”
“You’d just go out and hurt people again.”
The old man paused, then burst into an extremely piercing strange laugh.
After laughing enough, he lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret only the two of them knew.
“Young man, on the path of dark undead magic, if you don’t harm people, you’ll never go beyond this level.”
Victor’s pupils contracted slightly at that moment.
“You use those magic beasts as materials—it has its limits.”
“But human souls are the richest.”
“They’re the best material for undead magic.”
Victor straightened up and looked down at the old man.
“We’ll talk after I’m stronger than you.”
“Until then, no deal.”
“Then when will I ever get out?”
The old man slammed the ground, chains rattling loudly.
“You have such amazing talent—why are you afraid to hurt anyone?”
“It’s been a year!”
“I’m starting to wonder where your dark power even comes from.”
“You dare touch any forbidden art, but what’s the result?”
“You haven’t even killed a chicken!”
Victor didn’t answer.
He just raised one hand, his five fingers slightly spread.
In that instant, all the darkness in the entire prison cell solidified.
Every shadow stopped flowing, as if gripped by an invisible giant hand.
The old man was crushed to the ground by the sudden pressure, his chest pressed flat against the cold stone.
Victor’s voice was very soft.
“You talk too much.”
He withdrew the pressure, crouched down, and looked the old man in the eye.
“Is there any other way to get stronger?”
“You’d better tell me everything at once.”
The old man slowly crawled up, his ghostfire-like pupils carefully examining Victor for a long time, then suddenly smiled.
“You don’t have to refine the souls of good people.”
“You can refine the souls of those who are utterly evil.”
“I know quite a few dark forces.”
“You go and eliminate those cancers one by one, using their souls to improve yourself—isn’t that a perfect solution?”
“The Temple of Holy Light won’t interfere with infighting among dark forces.”
“Maybe they’ll even give you a medal.”
“And in the shadows, you use their souls as materials, and no one will discover your secret.”
Victor was silent for a long time.
“Wait for my news.”
He finished speaking, stepped up the stone steps one by one, pushed open the stone door, and walked back into the midnight cold wind.
He turned around, his back to the prison cell.
He looked down at his open palm.
‘Souls of the utterly evil.’
‘Use those who deserve to die to get stronger.’
‘Would that count as not completely falling?’
‘Could I still barely stand by Shirley’s side?’
He clenched his fist, burying that question in the deepest corner of his heart, then walked back toward the Temple.
And in the prison cell left behind, the old man slowly sat up straight and let out the longest strange laugh of the night.
“The moment you experience using a human soul for the first time, the darkness inside you will never be controlled again.”
He didn’t tell Victor that.
This young man had finally taken the bait.
Once he stepped in, there was no turning back.