A hand suddenly crossed Aurelian's face, gently brushing both sides of his cheeks before reaching for the blindfold. It was pulled away, and the sight before him left him stunned. He gaped in awe, tense with reverence. This is unbelievable.

Towering pillars stretched to the domed ceiling above, each as wide as two men, and soaring more than 20 men high. The roof was washed in pure white, with square-shaped windows letting radiant white rays pour in. The slick floor beneath him was covered in strange circular patterns and unfamiliar writings. Each time he tried to focus on the symbols, a wave of weakness washed over him, and he quickly averted his gaze.

Shelves, as tall as hills, stretched in sequence through what seemed to be not just a hall, but an entire city. In the center of these pathways were rows of desks, occupied by diligent men and women tirelessly scribbling on scrolls. Their quills moved swiftly and steadily as they transcribed details from one parchment to another. The scent of ink and oil filled the air, yet Aurelian felt at peace. This is the keeper home of all knowledge held by the Pure White—and the record of every contract. He could barely breathe. This... this is devotion. Absolute devotion. To spend years doing nothing but writing, knowing a single error could bring ill to someone...

This is beautiful!

Just then, a figure emerged from one of the pathways between the towering shelves. It was the Bishop—tall, dressed in white, and imposing as ever. He walked calmly toward Aurelian, flanked by two women whose appearance was unlike anything Aurelian had ever seen.

They were mostly naked, save for white hoods that covered their faces, revealing slick strands of white hair. Their chests were modestly covered by white cloth, and another thin cloth hung from their waists, with flag-like parchments dropping between their legs and down their backs, concealing their private areas. Black symbols littered their bodies, leaving only small patches of unmarked skin. This? In the Tome Vault of the Pure White? The Pure White did not condone marks on the body. One must be pure, just like God!

Aurelian frowned unknowingly.

"How are you?" a deep voice snapped him from his reverie. Aurelian looked up at the Bishop, who had already arrived before him. Quickly, he bent the knee, lowering his head. He wanted to kiss the Bishop’s feet or hands, but refrained for now—unsure of why he had been brought here. He didn’t want to offend the Bishop if this was a punishment.

The Bishop raised a hand. "Bless you," he said with a warm smile.

Aurelian tensed for a moment but quickly regained composure. He remained kneeling until the Bishop gestured for him to stand. "Follow me," the Bishop said, walking calmly past the smaller priests and the expressionless scribes carrying bundles of parchment.

Soon, they reached an unsettling building, built beside a whitewashed wall. It seemed out of place—square, small, and far removed from the towering shelves and the buzz of scribes. Like the rest of the hall, it was white, but two blooded knights stood guard beside it. Is something in there? Aurelian wondered.

As they drew closer, the intricacies of the building became clear. The walls were inscribed with the same circular patterns, along with more unique symbols painted in black and white. Just looking at them made Aurelian feel the urge to run away, to hide. A deep fear welled up inside him, unlike anything he had ever felt before. What in the Pure White is this? He had heard of strange languages that could bring effects, like Draconis, but this... this was almost alien.

The Bishop reached the door, sparing no glance at the silent blooded knights. Aurelian kept his head low as the Bishop opened the door with a simple round doorknob. Then, he turned to the two strange women and said, "Go find your assigned Invigilators."

The two women nodded silently and left. For some reason, Aurelian couldn’t sense their mind tendrils. What does this mean? He wondered. Only inanimate objects lacked mind tendrils. Whatever they are, I shouldn’t pry.

Nevertheless, Aurelian followed the Bishop piously into the room.

Inside, it was far simpler than he had expected. There was only a table and two chairs, though the walls were lined with statues. Some of them resembled the Bishop, while others bore the likeness of great men from the empire. Among them, a sculpture of Thales the Chaplain stood prominently.

The Bishop circled the room and sat in a high-backed chair. How is that chair even holding him? Aurelian wondered for a moment. The walls were whitewashed, with eternal glass-encased lamps burning softly on either side.

"Take a seat," the Bishop said, his bronze-like hands resting on the clean wooden desk.

Aurelian forced himself to remain calm and took a seat, still feeling tense about the situation—where he was, who he was with, and what might happen next.

"How have you been, Aurelian?" the Bishop asked, his voice soft but commanding.

Aurelian froze. He knows my name? Did he get information from a Voicestone? Or does he actually know me? But from where?

The Bishop eyed Aurelian and laughed softly. "I suppose you don’t remember me... Little Jumper."

Aurelian froze, feeling as though a long-forgotten memory had just resurfaced. "Father Florus!" he exclaimed.

The Bishop smiled. "You’ve been quite busy these days. Even attempting to assassinate an Archon."

Aurelian lowered his head in shame. He felt remorse that Father Florus had learned of his actions, though he didn’t regret them. If anything, he felt incompetent for not finishing what he had started. Soon I will, he thought.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

He looked back at the Bishop. The man had still been a priest the last time Aurelian had seen him. Back then, Aurelian had been nothing more than a thug, stealing and fighting to survive. He recalled how he had once tried to rob a small ministry in the slums, only to be caught by Father Florus. What did he do to me? Aurelian thought, feeling a strange bliss as the memory came flooding back.

Father Florus had captured him, locking him in the basement of the ministry for two months, feeding him only bread and water, and never allowing him to see the light. The man had made him confess his sins, memorize chapters of the Holy Book, and pledge eternal devotion to the Pure White God. Only after that long ordeal had Aurelian been set free—a changed man. And with that change, he had joined the Guardsmen, dedicating himself to the Empire and the Pure White God. In many ways, he owed his life to Father Florus. Without him, Aurelian would have died in some gutter after crossing the wrong person, as often happened in the slums.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Aurelian lowered his head and said in a remorseful tone, "If... if you wish to punish me, Father, please do. I will not make excuses for what I’ve done. If anything, I feel ashamed that I didn’t finish what I started." He realized his last words might have been too blunt to speak before Father Florus, but he couldn’t find another way to express his feelings. Even though Putray was an Archon, appointed by the Legion-Master—one of the sons of the Sovereign—Aurelian didn’t care. To him, Putray was despicable and unworthy of such a title.

There was a long silence.

"Do you know what it means to admit this to me?" the Bishop asked, his voice now tinged with a subtle hostility that Aurelian, as a battle-hardened legionnaire, could easily detect.

"Yes. But this is in no way a defiance of the Pure White Ministry," Aurelian said, still bowing his head.

"I see," the Bishop replied, leaning back in his chair—something that seemed impossible given his size. Perhaps the chair was made of a material softer than normal wood. After an unnaturally long silence, the Bishop sighed and said, "I understand... Jumper."

Aurelian’s eyes flickered. He called me Jumper again... Does this mean he forgives me? The nickname "Jumper" had come from when Aurelian had once tried to escape the basement by jumping out of a window, only to be blinded by a fierce white light. Since then, Father Florus would call him "Jumper" whenever he felt pity for him. Wait, does this mean he forgave me before I even started speaking?

"I understand," the Bishop continued. "I, too, would want to kill a man who sent me to my death—a death without honor."

Aurelian froze. He knows? Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering that posters of his face had been plastered on certain billboards, it was only a matter of time before the Ministry discovered the truth. Yet, he wondered why the Ministry had not moved to punish Putray for his actions. Is there something I don’t know?

"However," the Bishop said, "what you’ve done is still considered heresy by all laws." His voice remained calm and soft.

And here comes the punishment. Aurelian lowered his head again.

There was another long pause before the Bishop finally spoke. "Yesterday, a massive vortex appeared in Canen."

Aurelian looked up, surprised.

"It was so large that I suspected a hazard-class being had entered the city. But now, I suspect it may be something even greater." The Bishop’s tone carried a note of concern.

What is this vortex? An evil faction? Aurelian had never heard of such a thing.

The Bishop eyed him carefully. "I suppose you wouldn’t know what this is..." He sighed before continuing. "A vortex is a collection of events that encompasses the lives of all living beings. The more important a person is, the stronger the vortex around them becomes. But the most crucial aspect of it is the attraction. This discovery was made long before the current millennia—before the Solitude Epoch. That time is vaguely called the First Millennia, or the Genesis Millennia, although some ruins and sources refer to it as the Merging Era."

Aurelian didn’t recognize this period. The eras he knew well were the Era of War and Fire, the Solitude Epoch, the Annihilation Wars, and the Unification Period. Beyond those, his knowledge of history was limited. He did know, however, that there had been only five recorded millennia, beginning with the Genesis Millennia. Although he often wondered why there were only five millennia. Did it mean the world only started 5 thousand years ago?

The Bishop continued. "The attraction of a vortex is that the more important and powerful a person is, the more they draw others into their vortex. This is why Canen does not allow the presence of beings above Desolation-class to remain within the city for too long. Their presence can cause normal people to become entangled in their events or trigger Sanguine-related matters. But three days ago..." The Bishop paused, hesitant. "A massive vortex appeared in the city. While we don’t know if it was responsible for what followed, we do know that on that day, the White Bank was attacked, several nobles were killed, and many factions revealed their presence. There are even rumors that the Maw people are planning something."

The Bishop sighed deeply. "We can’t allow this to continue—not with the yearly dust storm and rainstorms approaching. And certainly not with the Strongman Festival around the corner. These things cannot be allowed to fester."

Aurelian was stunned. Is this connected? Did it happen the day we arrived in the city... through the Astra? Could the boy be the one who triggered all of this? Should I inform the Bishop? That would be the right thing to do... but...

He hesitated, torn between conflicting thoughts. What if it wasn’t the boy? He’s a beastman... Even if he were a saint, they might still kill him for being less than human. But why do I even care? His gaze shifted to the Bishop, whose calm yet penetrating stare seemed to see straight into his soul. Didn’t I plan to save him as part of my penance? He might be a hidden monster, but I can’t go back on my word. I’ve already betrayed my comrades—I can’t do it again. If he becomes a problem, I’ll handle it myself. No matter what.

His thoughts raced as he locked eyes with the Bishop’s steady, composed gaze.

The Bishop sighed. "I expected you to tell me yourself, Jumper."

Aurelian’s heart raced. Tell him what? A sudden wave of anxiety washed over him.

"Why are you protecting the boy?" the Bishop asked, his voice soft and gentle, yet carrying an unsettling depth.

Aurelian froze. No! Not like this. He can’t find out this way. Panic surged through him.

But then, unexpectedly, the Bishop smiled, a gesture that only deepened Aurelian’s confusion. The sudden shift in the conversation left him feeling disoriented. "This is good. This is what the Ministry requires of you."

"By the Pure!" Aurelian exclaimed, wide-eyed with disbelief. Am I supposed to keep an eye on the boy?

The Bishop nodded slightly. "I understand your confusion. But this is your task from the Ministry." His smile faded, and his tone grew more serious. "The truth is, Aurelian, you have committed treason. But to make amends for that crime, the Ministry has a mission for you."

Aurelian swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

"You will observe the boy. Report to us everything he does. Make him believe you are his ally, his servant—someone willing to do anything for him. And also, you will become a hunter for the Ministry."

Aurelian’s mind whirled. A hunter? For the Ministry?