"In a couple of days? What exactly is the task?" Erika asked, his voice deliberately kept even, though a cold, sharp edge of anticipation hid beneath it. With dual Marks burning under his skin, he felt fundamentally altered. He didn't feel the naive excitement of a hero chosen by destiny; he felt like a man who had finally managed to pry a rusty crowbar into the gears of fate, desperate to know what machinery he was expected to break.

  Wolfgang didn't break stride. He led Erika through the Sanctum's increasingly grand, yet increasingly deserted corridors, heading towards the colossal structure known as the "Angel's Descent."

  As he walked, Wolfgang explained in his characteristic, clinical monotone: "The Sanctum's energy supply has always been a… persistent issue." He stated it plainly, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "The Eternal Circuit Law is not omnipotent in generating mass. Therefore, the Sanctum dispatches a considerable number of Clerics to 'convert' enclaves of heretical belief, to broaden the frontiers of faith—which is to say… broaden the scope of the energy harvest."

  Erika listened in silence. This was starkly different from the official narrative of "spreading divine grace" preached to the masses. It was raw, parasitic, and brutally practical.

  "As for the 'Angel's Descent' ceremony in two days," Wolfgang continued, his flat tone making Erika's heart jump despite himself. "It was originally a sacred moment to welcome an 'Angel's' consciousness and prepare a suitable vessel for it. However, recently, we've been unable to find a sufficiently 'pure' physical shell capable of bearing such immense, corrosive energy."

  He glanced sideways at Erika. It was a flat, calculating look that lingered just a second too long.

  "So, this time, the ceremony will primarily serve as a large-scale energy replenishment. Coincidentally, the collective Marking for the novice Clerics will be held simultaneously. Utilizing the energy surge gathered by the ceremony is more efficient. It saves resources."

  Erika understood immediately. Collective Marking, unified "management"—it confirmed the disgusting implication in the Bishop's earlier words. And he, by receiving his primitive Mark early and surviving the second brutal grafting, had stepped outside this standard, expendable procedure.

  "What you need to do is…" Wolfgang began, but was interrupted.

  A few neatly dressed children, playing in the Sanctum's outer precincts, dashed out near their path. Seeing Wolfgang's high-tier Cleric attire and the lethal insignia, and then spotting Erika following behind with the faint, golden glow of new Marks visible on his arms, their eyes filled with instant, fanatical worship.

  "Wow! A Cleric!"

  "So cool! I want to be a Cleric too!"

  "Executing the God's will! Purging the heretics!"

  The children chattered excitedly, their small faces alight with a naive, terrifying fervor.

  Wolfgang's step hitched for a fraction of a second. He looked down at the cheering children. His deep-set eyes simply reflected their frantic waving. He didn't slow his pace. He offered a single, perfunctory nod, then gestured for Erika to keep moving, leaving the innocent, fanatical cheers behind them.

  Once they were a distance away, Wolfgang resumed, his tone even flatter than before. "The specific task details will be discussed once we arrive. You've just survived the Marking; your mental strength is depleted, and your channels are raw. For today… I'll let you off the hook. Survive the next two days."

  The statement was abrupt, a sudden shift back to the cold reality of their arrangement.

  They proceeded in silence, soon arriving before the magnificent structure known as the "Angel's Descent."

  This was Erika's second time here. Last time, he had only seen it from afar—this bizarre, metallic bud-like building covered in thick energy conduits and glowing sigils, radiating heart-palpitating waves of power. Now, he was about to step into its maw.

  The heavy, gold-veined metal doors slid open without a sound. A wave of air washed over them—a sterile mix of ozone, cold metal, and something else… an indescribable, heavy scent, as if the air itself was saturated with countless condensed prayers and suppressed screams.

  The interior was vastly more oppressive than the exterior suggested.

  A colossal circular dome soared overhead, supported by a terrifying web of interwoven energy conduits. Within these massive, translucent pipes flowed a visible, liquid-gold torrent of raw energy, producing a deep, constant, bone-rattling roar. Directly beneath the dome was a seemingly bottomless vertical shaft. Its walls were smooth as black glass, entirely covered in aggressive, glowing sigils. The rim emanated a crushing energy pressure that screamed a warning against approaching.

  The entire space was dimly lit, the primary illumination bleeding from the energy-filled conduits and the blinding glow from the shaft, casting everything in an ominous, jaundiced hue. The air thrummed with a violent magnetic field, making Erika's new Marks vibrate painfully under his skin—a terrifying sensation of both physical oppression and a primal, starving craving.

  Was this where the "Angel" descended?

  Standing at the entrance, his senses bombarded by the sheer scale of the machinery, Erika felt a deep, twisting unease mingle with his anticipation of the task. He was standing in the very heart of the engine.

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  Wolfgang seemed in no rush to assign the task immediately. Instead, he led Erika on a slow, deliberate walk through the grand, eerie interior. The low roar of the energy liquid was omnipresent. They passed under archways formed by intersecting conduits, giant metallic ribs overhead. Their footsteps echoed sharply on the polished black stone floor. The deeper they went, the more viscous the energy in the air became. Erika could feel the Marks on his arms autonomously, greedily drawing in the ambient, thinly dispersed radiation to adapt and stabilize.

  Finally, they reached the innermost sanctum of the structure.

  Here, the dome stretched into absolute darkness. The dominating feature was a massive statue positioned at the very edge, directly facing the great energy shaft.

  The statue was carved from pure, flawless white marble. Bathed in the dim, golden ambient light, it seemed to emit a sickly, soft glow of its own. It depicted the form of a powerfully built man, his arms outstretched to the sides in an aggressive stance of welcome, or perhaps, a total subjugation of the entire world. The folds of his robes were carved with fluid, dictatorial strokes.

  Yet, when Erika tried to focus on the statue's face, a sharp pain spiked behind his eyes. He found he couldn't. The face seemed shrouded in an intangible, shifting mist, or perhaps the sculptor had deliberately mutilated the features, leaving only a hazy, indistinct outline—divine, yet fundamentally unidentifiable. This "unseeable" quality wasn't due to poor lighting; it was a hostile phenomenon emanating from the stone itself, aggressively repelling mortal perception.

  Wolfgang stopped before the statue. He looked up at the blurred visage. He didn't bow. He didn't make the sign of the Circuit. His posture remained rigid. He didn't blink, his eyes simply tracing the aggressive lines of the marble.

  "This is a statue of our Lord," Wolfgang's voice was distant, a rote recitation stripped of all faith. "According to the scriptures, it was our Lord who descended into this world a millennium ago, during the Age of Ignorance, bestowing upon our ancestors the knowledge and power to wield energy, leading them out of darkness and strife."

  Erika stared up at the aggressively obscured face, his heart filled with a freezing dread. Was this the source of all power? The supreme entity revered by the Auric Creed? Why was its face so heavily guarded against human sight?

  His grim thoughts were interrupted by faint, organized sounds of labor.

  Around the statue, and throughout the wider space near the shaft, numerous figures in coarse grey acolyte robes were at work. They weren't Clerics, but lower-tier, expendable brothers handling the physical labor. They were carefully hauling and arranging heavy, semi-transparent panels—seemingly made of crystal or dense, energy-infused glass, etched with complex, locking sigils. They slotted these panels into pre-set grooves in the floor, following a suffocatingly precise geometric pattern.

  As these panels were violently slotted into place, Erika could physically feel the chaotic, frenetic energy fluctuations in the air being gradually crushed, constrained, and forced into forming a highly condensed, invisible containment zone around specific areas.

  "What are they building…" Erika whispered.

  Wolfgang glanced at the toiling acolytes. "Setting up energy barriers. For the ceremony in two days." He paused, his voice dropping to a chillingly practical register. "During the ceremony, the main energy shaft will be fully opened. The guided surge will be lethal to the unprotected. These barriers serve two purposes: to prevent the immense energy from dissipating outward and causing… collateral damage; and to forcefully channel the raw radiation precisely into the designated areas where the novice Clerics awaiting their collective Marking will be stationed."

  Prevent dissipation… forcefully channel… stationed.

  Erika watched the transparent walls forming a massive, invisible containment zone. He had no idea what the actual ceremony entailed, nor could he fathom the sheer weight of the energy that would soon fill this space. But the meticulous, almost paranoid precision of the setup sent a faint, instinctive chill down his spine. It didn't feel like the preparation for a sacred blessing. It felt cold, industrial, and suffocatingly rigid—an invisible cage designed to lock every last drop of power inside, leaving absolutely no room to breathe.

  This "Angel's Descent" site, beneath its sacred and magnificent fa?ade, was a masterpiece of cold, calculated, and brutal efficiency.

  Wolfgang's low voice cut through the shaft's deep roar, carrying a metallic hardness that jerked Erika's attention back from the horrifying realization.

  He turned to face Erika, his deep eyes stripping away any remaining illusions. "I brought you here today, Erika, not for a tour." He deliberately closed the distance between them. "You need to understand clearly that the Marks burning in your flesh are no longer merely symbols of power. They are brands. They represent your utility, your faction, and your inescapable chain to this place. From this moment, you are a weapon of the Sanctum."

  His gaze was a physical weight. "Discard all impractical fantasies. Discard the hesitation and mercy that got people killed in the wilderness. In this position, any trace of childish morality will spell your utter ruin, and it will drag down anyone foolish enough to stand near you."

  His words carried the heavy weight of a man who had watched too many die screaming. For a fleeting second, the absolute rigidity of Wolfgang's posture cracked. He let out a breath that sounded like a sigh of profound exhaustion. "Get your body used to the burn, kid. The real work begins soon."

  Erika was left reeling by the brutal shift in tone, his mind racing to process the absolute lack of escape. He was about to ask what the actual task was when Wolfgang's head snapped up.

  His eyes shot a lightning-like, hyper-alert gaze toward the grand entrance.

  Simultaneously, a vast, suffocatingly heavy presence flooded the great hall like a physical tide, instantly crushing the ambient roar of the energy shaft into a whimper. It wasn't violent, but it possessed an unassailable, absolute authority.

  Every single laboring acolyte froze, then immediately dropped to their knees, bowing their heads so low their foreheads touched the cold stone.

  A figure, flanked by a phalanx of elite attendant Clerics, glided in at a measured, terrifyingly slow pace.

  He wore the pristine, immaculate robes of the absolute highest authority in this branch of the Sanctum, heavy with golden sigils of the Eternal Law. His face was aged, lined with decades of rule, but his eyes were like bottomless, black pools—calm, yet entirely capable of drowning a man with a single look. A faint, perfectly tailored, gentle smile graced his features. But beneath that mildness lay the crushing, bone-deep terror bred from holding the absolute right of life and death over thousands.

  This was the highest leader of the Sanctum branch—Grand Cleric Hong Bo.

  His mere arrival instantly froze the atmosphere in the "Angel's Descent." Even the liquid energy in the massive conduits seemed to slow its frantic flow in deference.

  Wolfgang instantly schooled his face, all traces of humanity vanishing, reverting perfectly to the role of a hardened, obedient subordinate. He gave a deep, precise bow. "Your Eminence."

  Hong Bo's fathomless eyes swept first over the construction of the energy cages, nodding with terrifying, benign satisfaction. Then, his gaze—heavy as a collapsing star—shifted and settled entirely upon Erika.

  Or more precisely, upon the newly formed, aggressively glowing Marks on the boy's exposed arms.

  The Grand Cleric's gentle smile seemed to widen just a microscopic fraction. But the warmth in it died entirely before it ever reached those bottomless, black eyes.