Mikan stood upon the dais, smiling as he watched the beasts tear through the priests. He gently—almost playfully—stroked the creature squirming across his face with the tips of his fingers.

  A handful of priests rushed the dais, desperate hands clawing at the stone as they tried to climb. None succeeded. Some collapsed to their knees, sobbing and praying, while others ran blindly, frantically searching for exits that no longer mattered.

  “They are mostly rubbish,” Mikan whispered, indifferent to the mounting deaths. “Only the Awakened shall see the light.”

  He shifted his weight, unconcerned.

  A few priests engaged the beasts directly, wielding shattered furniture, broken candlesticks—anything they could grasp. Their resistance delayed nothing. One by one, they were torn apart, their bodies reduced to ruin like those already littering the floor.

  The hymns continued—haunting, melodic—unchanged by the carnage. The screams, however, had begun to fade. Their numbers dwindled rapidly.

  Mikan smiled, licking his scant, uneven teeth. “At least… there are a few decent ones.”

  He clasped his hands together. “Praise be to Lord Jolran.”

  Adam moved through the cathedral like a reaper unbound.

  Each motion ended a life. The beasts could not follow him—neither could the priests. To them, he was little more than a blur, a passing shadow followed by sudden death.

  He twisted the neck of another beast and tossed the corpse aside without a second glance.

  They gathered all these people just to sift out the Awakened?

  The creatures were weaker than his original familiars—far weaker. To ordinary people, this was slaughter. To an Awakened, it was barely a trial.

  Adam’s gaze swept the cathedral. He counted ten other Awakened scattered across the battlefield. Some butchered the beasts with brutal efficiency. Others fought desperately, already bleeding, barely surviving.

  His eyes returned to Mikan atop the dais.

  The bishop hadn’t looked his way once.

  So he can’t see through my illusions.

  Either Mikan was an ordinary human—or an Awakened of negligible level. Still, Adam didn’t rule out the possibility that the man was pretending.

  Minutes passed.

  Blood—thick as tar—flooded the once-pristine marble tiles. Bodies, human and beast alike, lay strewn across the floor, mangled beyond recognition. A crimson mist hung in the air, heavy with the stench of blood and ruptured flesh, yet the hidden choir continued its chants without pause.

  Of the hundreds who had entered the cathedral, only five priests remained.

  “Congratulations!” Mikan roared, laughter bursting from his throat. “You have deemed yourselves worthy!”

  Adam, drenched in gore, regarded the bishop with flat indifference. The surviving priests glanced warily at one another, none daring to move closer.

  Mikan suddenly raised his arms and dropped to his knees.

  “The chosen ones are born!” he cried. “The chosen ones are born! The chosen ones are born! Let us feast at the birth of the Awakened before us!”

  The choir fell silent.

  A yellow portal opened behind him.

  Adam frowned. Another test?

  The remaining priests shifted, muscles tightening, readying themselves.

  Five figures stepped through the portal, each clad in the same crimson robes as Bishop Mikan.

  Adam’s brows lifted.

  So that’s where she was.

  He recognized X instantly.

  The newcomers halted behind the kneeling bishop, motionless and silent.

  Mikan rose unsteadily, retrieving the cane he had discarded earlier. His face contorted with effort—then smoothed into a blissful smile.

  “Brothers. Sisters,” he roared, fervor dripping from every word. “Prepare them for the journey ahead. The chosen ones are born. A new age is upon us!”

  His gaze passed over the priests one by one. “Remain faithful to your calling,” he said warmly. “Work diligently, and you too may one day fellowship within Lord Jolran’s temple.”

  Hope flickered across the priests’ faces.

  Adam mirrored their expressions flawlessly.

  “I will leave you with your handlers,” Mikan said. “Farewell—for now.”

  He stepped backward into the portal, which sealed behind him with a low hum.

  Five new portals bloomed behind the priests—clear and colorless.

  “Cleanse yourselves,” a voice echoed. “We will visit you at the appointed time.”

  No one’s lips moved.

  Adam hesitated only a fraction of a second before stepping into the nearest portal.

  “Eat nothing,” X’s voice whispered into his ear.

  Adam did not react.

  The world twisted.

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  A small room materialized around him—spartan and silent. A table. A chair. A narrow bed. No windows. No vents. Yet a cool, refreshing breeze brushed against his skin.

  To his right, a bathroom stood open. Clear water filled the tub, steam rising gently. Green flower petals floated across the surface.

  A miniature portal opened above the table.

  A perfectly roasted chicken dropped onto a platter, still steaming. Beside it appeared a tall jug of red wine.

  The aroma filled the room.

  Even without X’s warning, I’d be insane to eat anything prepared by those freaks.

  Adam stripped and entered the bath. Despite the grime caked into his skin, the water remained pristine.

  He studied the floating petals.

  They filtered impurities faster than his eyes could follow.

  Dark specks bloomed across the flowers as they worked.

  What kind of flowers…?

  He plucked one, examining it closely. He couldn’t decipher anything beyond what he already sensed.

  Adam slipped five petals into his inventory.

  Instantly, the water dulled.

  He returned them. The clarity returned just as quickly.

  Interesting.

  I wonder why Vicar sent me here…

  From Mikan’s words, it was clear the cult revered—perhaps worshipped—someone called Lord Jolran. But whether Jolran was god, man, or something else entirely remained unknown.

  Hopefully… nothing more insane is waiting.

  Adam exhaled and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the bath.

  A portal opened inside Adam’s room, and X stepped through.

  She carried a fresh set of clothes and a small black box. Her gaze immediately flicked to the table, lingering on the roasted chicken and the jug of wine.

  Thankfully… he didn’t eat it.

  Her eyes moved to the filthy clothes discarded on the floor, then to the closed bathroom door. Faint splashing echoed from within.

  She crossed the room in quick, quiet steps and placed the clothes neatly on the bare mattress.

  Cold metal pressed against the back of her neck.

  “I can’t guarantee your life if you move.”

  X froze. She opened her mouth carefully, not daring to shift even an inch. The sound of running water still came from the bathroom—yet somehow, he had slipped behind her.

  “I’m not a threat,” she murmured, raising both hands.

  The instant the words left her lips, the air distorted.

  Illusion? He’s an Illusionist?

  She drew a slow breath. “Please… don’t kill me. It will cause you far more trouble than it’s worth.” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “I’m not your enemy.”

  “Hand over the clothes.”

  X complied immediately, passing them back without resistance.

  “You can stop pretending now,” he said calmly. “You can’t fool me.”

  She blinked. “What are you talking abo—”

  Her head left her shoulders before the sentence could finish.

  Adam watched the corpse collapse as he dressed without hurry.

  Then came applause—soft, amused—followed by a woman’s laughter.

  “They told me they’d send someone competent this time,” X’s voice said, “but I wasn’t expecting an Illusionist.”

  The air twisted.

  The corpse vanished.

  X reappeared atop the bed, reclined in a deliberately provocative pose.

  “Is that how you survived the chapel?” she asked lightly.

  The air shifted again. The dressed ‘Adam’ dissolved like smoke.

  The bathroom door opened, and Adam stepped out.

  “I didn’t peg you as a flasher,” X laughed, making no effort to avert her gaze as she openly appraised him.

  “And I didn’t peg you as a pervert,” Adam replied, smiling faintly.

  She chuckled, her smile sharpening. “I’m easily tempted.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Adam approached the bed at an unhurried pace, collected the clean clothes, and ignored the seductively posed woman entirely.

  Despite the allure she projected—enough to unravel most people—he sensed the carefully masked bloodlust beneath it.

  “You’re no fun,” X sighed, sitting upright. “Why did they have to send a prude?”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Miss Pervert.”

  For the first time, a chill flickered in her eyes. Adam pretended not to notice.

  “So,” he said, dragging a chair closer and sitting, “what’s the mission?”

  “I need to see the—”

  Adam cut her off, retrieving a blood-red amulet from his pocket and tossing it to her.

  “Confirm it.”

  X caught it reflexively, her eyes darting between the amulet and Adam. Confusion crossed her face—she clearly hadn’t seen him retrieve it from the new clothes.

  She examined it briefly, then tossed it back.

  A quiet sigh escaped her. “Part of me hoped you were an imposter,” she muttered. “I don’t know why a kid like you would join those lunatics.”

  Adam said nothing, but his interest sharpened.

  Does she know about Vicar and the organization back him?

  He cleared his throat. “Careful,” he said lightly. “Talking like that in front of me is risky. You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

  “Us?” X scoffed. “Don’t lump me in with them.” Her tone flattened. “You’re new, so here’s some genuine advice.”

  She leaned forward, eyes hardening.

  “Run. Abandon everything and disappear. If they’re holding your family—or a lover—forget them and save yourself. This path only gets worse. Never better.”

  She paused, watching him closely.

  “And you’re not worried you’ll get in trouble for telling me this?” Adam asked with a smile.

  X laughed softly. “You don’t even know how to ask that question properly,” she said. “That alone tells me you’re new.”

  Adam smiled, neither confirming nor denying it.

  “Do you know the organization’s name?”

  “Of course not,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m just another disposable lapdog—same as you.” She straightened. “Now enough of that. I still need to brief you.”

  Adam hid his disappointment.

  “What do you know about the Scavengers?” she asked.

  “Not much.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She shifted position. “Only Archbishops and above know their true history. Officially, the Scavengers operate under five ranks.”

  She ticked them off calmly. “Pope. Cardinals. Archbishops. Bishops. Priests. Deacons.”

  “That’s six,” Adam noted mildly.

  X smirked. “You’ll learn the difference if you survive.”

  She continued. “They’re one of the largest dark guilds in Outworld—mostly because of their Deacons. Unlike most guilds, they recruit normal people freely.”

  “In sheer numbers,” she added, “only the Council of Hollows, Mxyrath, the Disciples of Eben, and the Eight Gates rival them.”

  Adam’s expression tightened at the last name.

  X noticed—and smiled.

  “Do you know who founded them?” she asked.

  “No,” Adam said. “Who?”

  “Sir Ethan Quinn.”

  She waited.

  Adam stared back blankly.

  The name meant nothing to him—and X’s expression confirmed she’d expected shock.

  As he expected, her excitement evaporated.

  “You haven’t heard of Sir Ethan Quinn?”

  Adam nodded.

  She stared at him, pupils dilating. “You’re joking,” she said slowly. “You really haven’t heard of Sir Ethan Quinn?”

  “Who is he?” Adam asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “And why are you acting like I just confessed to living under a rock?”

  “How many types of Awakened exist?” she asked abruptly.

  Adam tilted his head back, baffled by the sudden shift. What does that have to do with anything?

  “Is this really the time for a quiz?”

  “I won’t say anything further unless you answer,” X cut in.

  Her playful demeanor was gone—replaced by something sharp and unsettling.

  Adam raised two fingers. “Two,” he said. “Those born Awakened… and those who sell their souls.”

  The color drained from her face.

  Why is she looking at me like that?

  Are there other methods?

  X inhaled slowly, visibly steadying herself. “Whoever assigned you this mission,” she said at last, “does not have your best interests at heart.”

  She shifted on the bed. “In most places, that answer would be considered correct. Here?” A humorless smile touched her lips. “You’d be laughed at.”

  “How so?” Adam asked, unable to mask his curiosity.

  “There’s a third method,” she said. “Awakening through elixirs.”

  Adam frowned but remained silent.

  “These elixirs are refined from Awakened,” X continued. “From either of the two conventional paths.” She paused. “Don’t ask me how. I don’t know—and I don’t want to.”

  She met his gaze. “Sir Ethan Quinn was the first master of the Fourth Gate of the Eight Gates. He was also the one who perfected elixir creation.”

  Adam’s brows lifted in realization.

  So that’s why Varidan despises them.

  “To this day,” X went on, “most Awakened and guilds harbor deep hatred for the Eight Gates. Because once elixirs existed, every Awakened became potential prey. Subdue them… and they could be rendered into tonics.”

  A chill settled in Adam’s chest.

  “Does the Eight Gates control the Scavengers?” he asked quietly.

  X exhaled and shook her head. “If only,” she muttered. “They gave up control thousands of years ago.”

  She looked at him squarely.

  “The Scavengers now answer to Jolran’s Temple.”

  “Who is Jolran?” Adam asked.

  X’s lips curved into a dry, uneasy smile.

  “The core believers of the è?ù,” she said softly. “Jolran.”