Morris never imagined he’d live to see a day like this.

An elderly priest led him into an obscure little chapel. At the entrance stood a fountain sculpture of Judas, founder of the Church of Lunhai. The area was quiet. Once inside, Morris glanced around. The worshippers looked devout, but their numbers were pitiful—only a dozen elderly nuns knelt praying on the floor, two nuns greeting the priest. Though the furnishings showed age, the chapel was spotlessly clean. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows onto the cross, filling the space with airy brightness.

Compared to Macedon City, this place was clearly modest. Yet Morris, to his own surprise, didn’t catch the usual heavy wax scent common in churches—likely because the chapel simply couldn’t afford it.

Just then, he noticed a young, beautiful girl among the nuns. She wore a black veil; her eyes were clear and pure. Unlike the others, her presence stood out—like a black gem gleaming amid a dragon’s scattered gold. Dressed plainly, golden hair flowing to her waist, she knelt properly on the cold marble floor yet had slipped off her brown square-toed shoes. White stockings hugged her slender calves, hinting faintly at skin beneath, her toes shifting restlessly inside. Morris froze mid-stare. The girl blinked her sapphire-like eyes, sensing his gaze, and shot him a wary look.

Their eyes locked for a full five seconds. Morris halted, feet rooted. She tilted her head slightly, long lashes catching the light beautifully. Only a wooden pew separated them. He felt utterly still; she sat serenely in the sunbeam, a puzzled expression on her face.

Then—the priest tugged his sleeve. Morris jolted back, letting out an awkward chuckle as he turned. The priest pointed expressionlessly at a doorplate reading "Silent Room." Morris’s stomach dropped.

“Wait—sir, please, let me just—”

“Inside,” the priest said, pushing the door open and gesturing. “Hurry.”

“Alright, alright…”

Sure enough—every Silent Room in every Church of Lunhai chapel looked identical.

Morris’s eyes landed instantly on Alex’s portrait hanging on the wall. He nearly bolted on reflex. Back in Macedon City’s church, whenever he messed up, Alex would drag him here: copy Lunhai doctrines facing that smug portrait while Alex sipped tea, savoring both Morris’s miserable face and his own likeness.

No wonder—Alex was hailed as the greatest Lunhai Pope since Judas. Portraits everywhere made sense.

Having endured countless sessions here, Morris suppressed the old ache, silently sat at the desk facing Alex’s smiling portrait, and covered his head. The priest, closing the door, blinked. “Why so proactive? How did you even know where to sit?”

*Of course I’m proactive—I’ve confessed before that portrait so many times it’s muscle memory. Who’d believe this? Hell, I barely do.*

“First,” the priest sighed, sitting across from him, “a wizard shouldn’t lay hands on civilians. No written rule, but it’s an unwritten code. You’re young—you shouldn’t carry that stigma.”

“Wait—please, let me explain!” Morris seized the chance. “I was the victim!”

“Victim?” The priest blinked. “How?”

“I got robbed. They didn’t know I was a wizard.” Morris sized him up—no malice, just… airheaded? “You—you?” The priest flushed. “How?”

“I should be asking *you*,” Morris leaned back helplessly. “Three burly guys versus me? Look at me—do I scream ‘robber’?”

The priest recalled the scene: two strong men sprawled in the alley, eyes rolled back, blood at the corners of their mouths, teeth scattered on cobblestones; the third trembling on his knees, begging; the boy standing tall in the wind, laughing wildly, stepping forward like a demon from Lunhai myth.

“…So it *was* you?”

“WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?!!!”

After clearing things up, the priest apologized repeatedly. Morris didn’t mind. What thrilled him? For the first time ever, he was *in the right* inside the Silent Room. No confession. No shame. Pure joy bubbled up. *If someone writes “The Life of Morris,” I’ll demand this line be bolded: “Morris Lawless, the most powerful Pope in Church of Lunhai history, on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, finally conquered the shadow of his predecessor within the Silent Room.”*

…How pathetically hopeful that sounded.

The matter settled. Led out, Morris endured the priest’s flustered fussing. A nearby nun sighed. “Forgive him. Father’s just… like that.”

“No worries at all,” Morris smiled. “Please set your mind at ease, uh—Father.” (*Almost called him “old man” again.*)

Still… why robbers *here*? “Has robbery ever happened near the church before?”

“Never! Absolutely never!” the priest rushed. “That’s why I didn’t consider it—I’m so sorry!”

*He’s a good man.*

But the mystery deepened. *Why me? Why now? Why three clueless strangers?*

Morris sat on a pew. Faint wax scent mixed with floral notes. He turned—she’d risen, now seated at the far end of the opposite pew, book in hand. Her captivating calves hidden under a long skirt, she turned a page, glanced at him, then quickly looked away—*clearly thinking the staring guy looked shady*.

Morris didn’t care. He wasn’t some starved pervert. Right now, even the prettiest girl held less charm than a weird-shaped rock.

“Here, young man,” the priest approached guiltily with tea. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Those criminals didn’t exactly receive…” He hesitated, recalling their state, then swallowed his conscience: “…punishment.”

“No big deal,” Morris grinned, sipping. Raised in Holy City Macedon, he knew tea. The aroma, the smooth taste—this was apology-grade brewing. *A genuinely good man.*

He joined the priest by the window. “Hesin really is a remarkable place.”

“Oh! I never asked your name,” the priest relaxed slightly. “I’m Norles. Call me Father. And you?”

“Morris Lawless. Just Morris.”

“Morris… a fine name. Funny—the current Lunhai Pope is also named Morris.”

“Yeah, quite the coincidence,” Morris sipped, *thinking: safest place really is the most dangerous one.*

Watching Morris’s manners, the priest sighed in relief. “Thank goodness it was you. Anyone else… I’d have to resign before God.”

“If it’s that serious, be more careful next time,” Morris nearly choked on his tea.

“Father,” Morris glanced back, then leaned close to whisper, “who *is* that striking girl?”

“Her?” The priest glanced at the golden-haired reader. “Some noble’s daughter, I think. Those two guards at the gate came with her—we never have security. Probably here for Royal Academy enrollment.”

“I see.” Morris sipped again. “Any recent news? Fun stuff?”

He couldn’t shake the unease.

“Well… besides the Royal Academy enrollment,” the priest pondered, “only one thing: our princess is scheduled to visit Hes—”

“If you have questions about Helsing City, ask *me*,” a crisp voice cut in. Morris turned. The girl stood behind him—when had she arrived? Her lovely face flushed with irritation. Meeting his stunned gaze, she huffed softly, flicked her skirt, and curtsied gracefully. “I am Sherlock Pandor. A pleasure.”