Chapter 22 Holy father's mercy
“Holy Father, what about our disciples?” Shekini asked carefully. Her voice was soft but laced with intention. She threw a quick glance toward Elder Yung, seeking his support.
“Yes, Holy Father,” Yung added, stepping forward. “Look at how bloodthirsty he is acting. He needs to be put down.”
All eyes turned to Vandal. The boy was a picture of violence. His small fists slammed into guards with brutal force, imprinting their bodies into the stone walls and cracking the marble floor beneath them. Broken swords and shattered spears littered the ground around him. At a distance, phantom fists formed from pure energy shot forward, striking distant guards and sending them crumpling like broken dolls.
“There is no need,” Holy Father Williams said calmly.
In the next instant, he vanished from the high platform and reappeared directly in front of Vandal. With a light, almost casual chop to the side of the boy’s neck, Vandal’s eyes rolled back. His berserk aura vanished instantly as he collapsed limply into Williams’ arms, shrinking back into his small, frail-looking form.
“Clara,” Williams continued, his voice steady, “you brought him here. You will be responsible for his well-being.”
“Yes, Holy Father.” Clara bowed deeply, her voice trembling slightly.
“Will he be okay, Mother?” Sabine asked, her voice thick with worry as she stared at Vandal’s unconscious body. The contrast was striking, the fragile-looking child surrounded by dozens of beaten, groaning guards.
“He’ll be fine. He’s just asleep,” Clara said gently, patting her daughter’s head.
Sabine let out a sigh of relief.
Duncan, however, was still fuming. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. His face flushed with anger at being undermined so publicly. With a loud “Hmph!”, he dusted off his robe and stormed toward the exit.
“Show’s over. Everyone return to your chambers!” Williams’ voice boomed throughout the hall even though his figure had already disappeared.
The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving only the ten elders and four matrons of the Unseeing Faith Sect standing in tense silence.
Clara bent down to pick up the unconscious Vandal when a deep, calm voice echoed directly beside her ear.
“Stop.”
Holy Father Williams reappeared as if he had never left. His blindfolded eyes were turned toward Vandal’s small body. Clara’s heart clenched. She dropped to her knees once more. “Holy Father…?”
Williams approached slowly. Each step was deliberate. He stopped beside Vandal and waved his hand. A powerful yet gentle soul sense washed over the boy. The hall fell deathly silent.
After several long breaths, Williams’ lips curved into a faint smile.
“Interesting… Extremely interesting,” he murmured. “This child possesses two fragmented cores, yet some remnant aura within him is devouring my resonance probe. Even while unconscious, his body instinctively resists me. And he has no elemental affinity tied to his Echo type.”
A heavy pause filled the hall.
“I want him to join the Enforcers,” Williams declared, his voice carrying absolute authority.
Gasps of shock and murmurs of disbelief erupted among the elders.
“You can’t possibly be serious!” Father Duncan’s voice exploded as he strode back into the hall, having clearly never left.
“Oh? So you were eavesdropping,” Williams said with a playful smile. “I thought you had already stormed off.”
“I did leave,” Duncan snapped, “but I returned because I forgot something. And now I hear you want to throw someone with zero connection to our sect straight into the Enforcers? Preposterous!”
“And why not?” Williams tilted his head slightly. “Must one have noble lineage or blood ties to become an Enforcer? Since when has talent alone not been enough?”
Duncan pointed an accusatory finger at the unconscious Vandal. “Talent? That little monster is nothing but a talentless savage! Yes, he went berserk and beat some guards, but that’s nothing more than wild, uncontrolled violence. He has no refinement, no foundation, no true potential. Allowing him into the Enforcers would be an insult to every worthy member!”
Williams’ smile faded. A heavy, oppressive aura slowly filled the hall, making several elders shift uncomfortably.
“You still call him talentless even after witnessing that display?” Williams asked, his voice dangerously calm. “Very well. Since you are so confident in your judgment… let us settle this with actions instead of words.”
He turned to face Duncan directly.
“If Vandal can defeat an Enforcer in combat one week from now, he will officially become one. If he loses, I will personally expel him from the Sect. Are you satisfied with these terms?”
Duncan’s eyes gleamed with vicious satisfaction. Without hesitation, he declared, “Then I choose Hutrar as his opponent.”
A few elders sucked in sharp breaths. Hutrar was one of the youngest but most ruthless Enforcers, known for his brutal combat style.
Williams nodded without hesitation. “One week from today. The duel will be held in the Central Combat Arena. Let the entire sect bear witness.”
Duncan smiled coldly. “I look forward to watching that wild dog get put in his place.”
As Duncan turned and left with a triumphant stride, Williams looked down at the unconscious Vandal with his blindfolded eyes.
“Rest well, boy,” he whispered. “It seems you’ll have to prove yourself sooner than I expected.”
The black hole that was sealed in his eye space had not spun since Vandal came out of the lake, but now it seemed to move just a bit.
Leaves rustled under Elder Bainard’s boots as he moved through the forest. His green robe blended with the canopy above. The resonance detector in his hand quivered. Its needle twitched without direction.
Bainard’s brows knitted tighter. Energy pulsed from his fingers into the device until, at last, the needle snapped toward a single tree.
Draped in heavy vines and moss that hung like a curtain, the tree loomed in silence. Bainard’s lips curled into a smile. He circled it slowly. His eyes narrowed at every branch and bark, wary of hidden traps.
“So this is where you are hiding, my little prey,” he murmured. His voice was low and rough. He paused.
His gaze lingered on the tangled roots. “Better to set my own trap than rush in blind.”