“Magic, you see, seeps into your very being, ushering in the corruption of your soul. It's a subtle, gradual process that takes its time. In the initial stages, the one being corrupted remains blissfully unaware, unable to comprehend the transformation taking place within. All they sense is a surge in strength and speed and a perceived clarity of mind. It's the alluring promise of the malevolent force, the eternal corrupter, trying to entice you with its deceptive assurances.”
Father Manchua extended his hands, creating a space as though reaching out to embrace something ethereal. His eyes scanned the captive audience, relishing the authority that addressing a mass bestowed upon him. To him, they were like malleable clay waiting to be sculpted by his words.
"But everything it does is, in truth, a lie, and that lie comes with a cost. One does not get stronger; instead, one allows him to manifest in this world. He, the ultimate briber, the deceiver, the liar, is slowly taking over your mind, and with it, slowly your soul, for that is his target — he wants your eternal soul."
Whether it was the truth or not didn't matter; what counted was to keep them captive there, continually drained of their precious mana by the ingeniously constructed installation. The mana crystals stored the power, and as long as he was in his parish, he could draw upon it. Of course, a significant portion went to those above him—the bishop, the archbishop, the eternal father, and the eternal mother - but he had his share of the pie.
"Even heroes, even great rulers, have succumbed to its lure, thinking they would be strong and use this power for good. But, in the end, even they ended up doing its bidding. The only thing that can protect you, that can save your souls, is to come to church each day and repeat the Holy Family prayer three times. Is it so much of a request? No. It is not much when it is the only thing that keeps your soul clean and pristine."
Manchua paused for a moment, allowing his listeners to digest his last words. He took a sip from the cup a zealous choirboy had placed in front of him and continued the sermon. As he did, he surveyed the crowd. The church was full, and he could feel the power coursing through his veins, even if it was just a trickle compared to what the church was gathering.
They were all weak; he could bring any of them to their knees with a simple powerword. But gathered like this, they were a tremendous source of power. The amusing thing was that he genuinely believed in what he was preaching. He continued his sermon effortlessly, his words flowing automatically.
"Now they are taunting us! Yes, they play with us and our lives! Why do you think they call themselves players? Players!! Playing with our lives and our very souls! The envoys from the other spheres that come here to wreak havoc! We need to strengthen our lines and be eternally watchful and careful. If you see or hear anything that seems dubious, that does not align with our rules and ways of living, it is because they are alien. Let us know, and we will send the strongest paladins, and even I will step forward to fight for you! To defend you and your dear family! We are here, in this community, to protect each other and grow stronger together!"
He glanced again over the full church. They were all at the level of power novices, as they should be. He had made it his duty to chase the lazy and treacherous peasants who were skimming their duty and call them to attend the sermon in the church. Especially now since the city of magic, with its cursed silver temple, had been destroyed. Oh, how good it had been to see that magepriest, Gohan, suddenly become much friendlier and meek. At first, he was surprised by the change, but then he learned that the silver shrine had lost its power.
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Oh, they had tried to hide it for a while, but now it was no longer possible. Yes, their God of Magic was obviously much weaker than the Holy Family! The thought brought a satisfied smile to his round face. He continued his sermon automatically, his words flowing freely.
“Only here in the church can that cursed power be cleaned up and turned for good and kindness. This is why you need to come here. Our paladins and our faith are the true protection from the evil outside. If you are hurt or ill, you need to come to our hospice; our nuns will help you and pray with you. Your prayers, if you are worthy, will be answered, and many miraculous healings have been seen!”
The longer he kept them there, the more he felt his power accumulate and grow. He had been at the veteran level for a couple of weeks already.
He thought again with anger about that time when he had faced Cala the Assassin. She dared to come here in his very town. Well, "faced" would be too much to say. How could he alone have faced her?
How could one individual have so much power? He knew he still could not face her even with his increased power. He had tried once to impress her with a power word, and she had simply laughed at him, thinking he was joking. Joking! He hated her as much as he hated that treacherous gnome, Grackak, but one day his power would grow enough to make them kneel.
As he spoke about healing wonders, he felt a sting to his pride. Yes, he hated Cala even more, as she had performed that miraculous act where she revived her partner, Alice the Archer, inside this town using those cursed potions and black magic. That was devilish work at the level of a miracle. Not even the high paladin or the archbishop could have revived her once she had been broken into pieces, and yet Cala had done it. A feat that only the Holly Parents could probably equal. How could he still pretend that healing through prayer was superior when everybody had witnessed that? Even the guards had hesitated to attack her, even if they had chanted sorcery, sorcery, in unison. They still did not attack her!
Weeks and months of work had been destroyed in that one day when the common people had seen the power of those accursed potions. Divine potions that she probably acquired from her cursed gods, and she had done that certainly just to impress the masses.
And that treacherous aristocrat, that marquis, was still refusing to mark Cala as an outlaw under the law and place a price on her head! Even if he knew that his daughter had probably run away with her!
But there was not much need for the puny reward the marquis could place on her head. He had heard that the Golden Empire had placed one of the highest bounties on her head, and even that accursed assassins' guild of hers was supposed to be hunting her now. It was only a matter of time until he would hear of her downfall!
As he ended the sermon, almost everybody hurried to form a queue to be blessed by him. This was a chore, but he did it diligently. It was a necessary exercise that forced him to delve into the reserve mana from the church after he completely drained his sources. But each time he had completely exhausted his mana, he had noticed that it slowly took longer to get there, which meant that his mana capacity was rising. He was getting stronger.
A smile crept onto his tired face as he noticed one of the young acolytes nearby—her name was Deema. He had long admired her delicate features that warmed his heart, and beneath the rough acolyte cloth, he could discern her slender body. Just sensing her proximity was akin to a glass of wine for him. Today, after the work, he would receive his consolation prize. He turned and asked her to follow him, and she did so gladly, thrilled to be the chosen one. Everyone admired his dedication and hard work.
After the sermon, after the blessings, he always took a youngster into his quarters and worked with them, guiding them to understand the church's holy teachings. He often assisted them with holy prayers to reach an epiphany and advance their talents.
He did not feel any guilt. It was a natural reward for his hard work, and perhaps the girl desired it deep in her heart, even if she didn't dare to confess it. He would fulfill her hidden wishes, but everything would need to remain concealed. That was the rule, and that's why he would have to erase her memory afterward.
Besides, this would be good training for his mind control, and it would also fortify the girl's resistance to it, wouldn't it? Or perhaps, if she wasn't fated for it, she would only break, but this would happen regardless. Better for it to occur in his careful and qualified hands.