blind salvation

The bishop at the entrance bowed slightly. "Sir Sheng, what can I do for you?"

Alex's expression remained indistinct. "Where is your precious Head Bishop Farkal?"

The man hesitated for a brief moment before gesturing. "Allow me to show you, sir. He is in repuls—" He stopped mid-sentence, correcting himself. "He is inside. Let me lead the way."

Without another word, the bishop turned and stepped through the grand doors of the church. He veered right, descending a staircase into the underground chambers.

Alex followed beside him, his gaze sweeping the dimly lit corridor.

A faint thud echoed with each step down the stone stairs. Finally, they arrived at a chamber—its magnificence undeniable. Gold-lined walls, intricate carvings of divine symbols, and towering bookshelves filled with ancient scriptures bathed in a soft, golden glow.

At the centre of the room, seated on an opulent sofa, was Head Bishop Farkal. His eyes closed, his breathing steady—deep in meditation.

The bishop accompanying Alex stepped forward, whispering something into Farkal's ear.

Slowly, Farkal opened his eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ah, Sir Sheng." His usual squinted gaze locked onto Alex. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Alex didn't waver. "Why don't you offer me a seat first?"

Farkal gave a sign toward the sofa across from him. "By all means."

Alex moved with controlled elegance, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat.

With a glance, Farkal dismissed the bishop. "Leave us."

The bishop bowed and exited, closing the door behind him.

Once alone, Farkal leaned forward slightly, lacing his fingers together. "Now, tell me, Sir Sheng. What is it that you want?"

Alex's voice was firm. "I'm teaching the children at the academy as per our deal, but I have a few questions. You will answer them—if you want me to continue."

Farkal exhaled softly, amusement flickering in his expression. "I will try. But first—why don't you have some tea?"

He gestured toward a delicate porcelain cup resting on the table.

Alex picked it up, taking a slow sip. "Now we can talk."

Farkal chuckled. "So impatient, don't you Sir sheng." He leaned back slightly. "Very well. Ask your questions."

Alex set the cup down. "I was wandering through the streets last night and saw something… unusual." His gaze sharpened. "A path disappeared right before my eyes."

Farkal's eyes narrowed. "Ah… so you saw that." He sighed. "These people of the church aren't doing their job properly."

He straightened, his tone turning more serious. "Alright, I'll tell you. I know you won't let me go until you hear the truth."

Alex remained silent, waiting.

"As you know, our kingdom is protected by a blessing—or, as some call it, an artifact." Farkal's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "That artifact was placed by the goddess herself, and no one can move it. Because of that, we never worried much about security."

"But," he continued, lips curling slightly, "one of my bishops decided to experiment on it without my permission. Ever since that day, we've had to conceal the route using magic—an illusion spell to prevent anyone from interfering with the artifact."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Then why was the illusion lifted last night?"

Farkal's smirk deepened. "Ah, that's the interesting part. You see, we realized something. People are curious. So, we decided to profit from it."

He leaned back, his smirk lazy.

"For ten days each month, we lift the illusion spell, letting the masses witness the so-called 'vanishing path.' Of course, they don't see the artifact itself—only the bizarre spectacle of a road disappearing before their eyes." He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement. "They come, they marvel, they pay. Then, after ten days, we recast the illusion, and the mystery is locked away again for another twenty."

Alex's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, his expression was quiet.

"So, you've turned a sacred artifact into a business," he stated flatly.

Farkal's smirk widened. "Why not? People crave wonders. If something has value, should it not be sold?"

Alex did not respond immediately. His mind turned, calculations forming and discarding themselves in rapid succession.

If the illusion is lifted regularly, then infiltrating that place is only a matter of timing. No need for brute force or unnecessary risks. I simply need to wait for the right moment.

Still, there was something else to consider.

"The church is hated here," Alex observed, his tone as light as if commenting on the weather. "Everywhere I go, I hear curses muttered under my breath, see glares thrown your way."

Farkal sighed, rubbing his temple as if burdened by some great sorrow. "It's a simple matter. We charge a little too much for our blessings and miracles."

"So you're robbing them."

Farkal wagged a finger. "No, no. I mean… well, yes." He let a blackened chuckle, completely unashamed. "But most of the money goes to orphanages. The rest sustains our divine services, of course."

Alex merely watched.

Farkal spread his hands. "Let them rage. Let them curse us behind our backs. It doesn't matter. In the end, faith remains, even in hatred."

Faith remains?

Faith is an illusion. The true currency is desperation I have roamed the longest and vastest cities on the different worlds, everywhere the church or may I call them cults has turned into an art form. They let the people starve, then sell them salvation at a price. A brilliant scheme for them to rule—one only helpless could respect, something like that. 

Farkal's voice cut through his thoughts. "That curiosity of yours, Sir Sheng… I assume it isn't just idle talk."

A test or maybe A challenge.

Alex met his gaze. "No. It's not."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Farkal smiled, his voice smooth as oil. "Well, if you ever need guidance, the church's doors are always open."

Alex rose, fluid and composed. "I'll remember that."