Morning sunlight pierced the high windows of the broken church, casting golden shafts across the floor. The sound of humming echoed gently—Lan, now healthier and stronger, was sweeping the stone tiles with enthusiasm. Little Light sat by the altar, drawing light patterns onto worn parchments, forming new healing seals to test later.
Outside, a small crowd gathered, waiting for healing.
Word of the "Gentle Priest of the Junk Church" had spread farther than he expected. Farmers, mothers, beggars, and old warriors now came to him with illnesses and wounds that other priests had refused to treat. Little Light's hands glowed with warmth as he treated a girl's twisted leg. His eyes were soft, but alert.
He always watched for spies now.
Though the villagers adored him, the city priests were growing restless.
Two days ago, someone dumped rotting food at the church gates. The message was clear: you don't belong here.
But he ignored it. He had faced worse. Fists from Little Water and near-death tricks from Little Death had forged his will like diamond.
That evening, after the crowd thinned, he sat beside Lan and prepared dinner—simple rice and herbs from the garden. Lan chatted happily, describing his dream of becoming a healer like his teacher.
"You'll be better than me one day," Little Light said with a smile.
"Never!" Lan beamed. "You're the best!"
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. A cloaked figure stood outside—delicate and graceful, her presence exuding a quiet dignity.
"I apologize for coming uninvited," she said, pulling back her hood to reveal pale blue eyes and noble features. "I am Priestess Yue'er."
Little Light recognized her at once. A noble-ranked priestess from the outer ring of the Holy Tower. Rumor claimed she was being trained to become a Messenger of Light—just below the High Angels.
He bowed lightly. "Welcome to my humble church."
She stepped inside and examined the repaired walls, the glowing sigils, the peaceful aura. Her eyes lingered on the small child peeking from behind a curtain.
"I've seen you from afar these past weeks," she said. "Your work is… unexpected."
"Do you mean because I chose ruins?" Little Light asked casually.
"I mean because your aura is controlled. Refined. Unusual for a low priest."
There was a long silence. She finally turned to him.
"Serve under me," she said. "Join my light court. I can offer you status, resources, a true church."
Lan clutched the edge of Little Light's robe.
"I'm honored," Little Light replied gently, "but I must decline."
Yue'er's eyes narrowed slightly. "This place is beneath your skill. You waste yourself here."
"I disagree. The light shines brightest in darkness."
She frowned. "One day you may regret this humility."
Then she left.
That night, Little Light lit a candle at the altar and whispered a silent chant. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but recognition.
Yue'er wasn't just curious. She was testing me.
The next morning, a message came. He was summoned to a nearby outpost for an official inspection mission—his first task from the Holy Tower since receiving probation status.
Lan was worried. "Will you be okay?"
"Of course," Little Light said with a wink. "I'll return before you finish that herb garden."
He set out on foot, traveling through light-infused forests and quiet stone roads. The village in question had reported strange fevers affecting its animals and water.
When he arrived, he found panic. Livestock were dying, and the well glowed a faint, sickly green.
He spent two days there, purifying the well using complex holy formations. On the third day, a mob of panicked villagers attacked him, thinking he had caused the sickness.
He didn't fight back. Instead, he healed the wounds they gave him—demonstrating kindness without anger. The crowd cried in shame.
"Even those who strike you deserve light," he whispered.
When he returned to his church, he found the door smeared with ash and curses.
Lan rushed into his arms. "They tried to burn it! I stopped them!"
Little Light patted his head. "Well done. You protected our temple."
He spent the next few days restoring the building again, humming softly as he worked.
But the attacks didn't stop.
One evening, as he healed a caravan guard's frostbite, two middle-ranking priests confronted him in front of a crowd.
"You overstep your bounds!" one barked. "Healing without permit. Taking followers!"
"I only help those who ask," Little Light replied.
"You're a fraud!"
"I am a light priest," he said calmly. "My work speaks louder than your words."
A young mother stepped forward and bowed. "He saved my baby when none of you would."
Then an old soldier. "He healed my leg when you laughed at me."
One by one, the crowd rallied. The priests, overwhelmed, fled in embarrassment.
That night, as he stitched a ripped curtain inside, he said to Lan, "Truth doesn't need to shout. It only needs to shine."
Lan nodded. "Like you, Teacher."
Little Light smiled, but deep in his heart, he knew something was brewing. The Church would not let him rise quietly.
--[To Be Continued]--