The Holy Spirit Cult had not celebrated like this in centuries.
Ethan's sudden arrival — his revelation as the long-awaited Holy Son — sent waves of ecstasy through the Cult's ranks.
The Sanctum of Souls erupted in joy, and for one night, even the darkness seemed to shimmer.
As for the unconscious Saintess Eva, she would make her appearance only after waking. For now, only the Cult's upper echelon knew of this unexpected blessing — one Holy Son, and one Saintess, chosen together.
But in the wake of Ethan's breathtaking emergence, her news was overshadowed completely.
Among the younger generation of Evil Soul Masters, word spread fast:
this child, this quiet, crimson-eyed boy, was their future. Even without Soul Rings, his sheer potential had already driven the Cult to madness.
Every ambitious youth knew — the surest path to glory was to ally themselves with the new Holy Son.
---
Ethan sat before a long banquet table lined with crystal goblets — all filled with dark crimson liquid.
He grimaced.
> Blood Marys. Of course.
The Holy Spirit Cult had apparently inherited all the charming traditions of the old City of Slaughter.
These drinks, soaked in blood essence, were both intoxicating and maddening. A few sips could blur one's mind; too many would erode it entirely.
> No wonder most Evil Soul Masters go insane, he thought. They probably drink this stuff like water.
The banquet was chaos incarnate — a carnival of monsters.
Soul Masters of every strange kind reveled together: those with claws for hands, those with beastly eyes, those whose shadows moved on their own.
For one night, the "vermin of the surface" — the hated, hunted — were free to be themselves, deep beneath the earth.
Perhaps, Ethan mused, the novels were right:
no one was born an Evil Soul Master. Some simply chose forbidden paths in pursuit of power.
But understanding did not equal forgiveness.
Evil was still evil — and the price, still blood.
---
During the feast, Ethan met several figures he recognized from the story that had once been fiction to him:
Gilly, whose Martial Soul was the Brain Devourer Beast;
Wang Leighton and Tanner, whose Bone Spirit souls gleamed coldly;
Rue Geng, bearer of the Abomination Soul;
Gus Yu, wielder of the Bone Staff Soul;
And Yan Feng, Zhongli Wu's personal disciple — the one with the fearsome Bone Dragon Soul.
Ethan forced down a few cups of that dreadful Blood Mary, exchanging polite smiles and hollow toasts, before excusing himself under the pretense of feeling unwell.
He barely made it back to his quarters before vomiting everything up.
---
Zhongli Wu had arranged a separate suite for him — a private loft built deep within the underground palace.
It was, in truth, both an honor and a form of protection.
Anyone daring enough to harm the Holy Son would first have to survive the wrath of Zhongli Wu and the four Grand Elders.
Sweeping the room with his vast spiritual sense, Ethan found no surveillance devices or hidden watchers.
Only then did he allow himself to relax slightly.
> This place is like dancing on razor wire, he thought. One wrong step, and I'm dead.
Had his spiritual power not evolved to the Spirit Abyss Realm, Zhongli Wu could have easily invaded his mind and uncovered everything — his memories, his rebirth, his secrets.
Thankfully, the old man had refrained, knowing such a probe might destroy Ethan's consciousness entirely.
Even so, Ethan wasn't about to take chances.
His first task upon settling in was to erect a mental safeguard — a lock upon his own memory sea.
If anyone ever attempted to invade his mind, the seal would detonate, erasing all remnants of his past life.
He would lose everything — but the Cult would gain nothing.
Better oblivion than letting this nightmare organization read the script of fate itself.
When the seal was set, Ethan finally exhaled in relief.
> Good. No one's stealing my story.
For now, all he had to do was endure whatever "training" the Holy Spirit Cult had prepared for him.
As long as he kept his sanity intact, morality was still his to define.
---
"Even if my mind's stronger than ever," he murmured, closing his eyes, "my body is still too weak."
Years of malnutrition had left his physique frail, his constitution far behind that of other Soul Masters.
It explained why Zhongli Wu sensed Level 30 Soul Power in him, but outwardly he could only exert a fraction of it.
His body simply couldn't channel his mental energy safely.
If he overused his Spirit Eyes now, he risked literally burning out his brain.
> "I need to strengthen my body — fast," he muttered, clenching his fists.
Just then—
Creak—
The door swung open without warning.
A figure stepped inside.
---
She was breathtaking.
A young woman, barely in her twenties, with a cascade of jet-black hair down to her waist.
Her figure was sinuous and flawless — strength and sensuality woven into every curve.
Dark crimson eyeshadow framed her fox-like eyes, which shimmered with teasing malice.
Her lips, red as wine, parted in a faint, knowing smile.
> "So you're the Holy Son, Ethan Hartwell?"
Her voice was soft, slow — like silk dragging across skin.
Even Ethan, with all his self-control, felt his ears burn.
"Senior, you are…?" he managed, wary.
Anyone who could walk freely into this sanctum's deepest chambers was no ordinary woman.
The stranger tilted her head, amused.
"'Senior'? My, that makes me sound ancient," she teased.
Stepping closer, her long legs traced an elegant arc through the light.
She leaned down, resting her hands on the edge of his bed, her face inches from his.
> "I am Jade Zhongli, the First Saintess of the Holy Spirit Cult… and your future companion."
Ethan froze. His thoughts nearly short-circuited.
> Future… what now?
This was his first day in the Cult, and already someone wanted to—?
He forced a laugh. "Saintess, you must be joking…"
But he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She was — without exaggeration — the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
And dangerously close.
Of course, her surname said it all: Zhongli.
The granddaughter of Zhongli Wu himself.
It figured — the old demon would go this far just to bind him tighter.
---
"The Holy Son may not know," Jade continued, her voice low and velvety, "but when our Holy Son descends, all Saintesses are… his."
She leaned closer, her breath sweet as lotus, her tone dripping with seduction.
"Tell me, my Holy Son — do such things not interest you?"
Ethan's heart pounded.
"W-wait, this—no, I—"
He stumbled backward instinctively — only to find the wall behind him.
Before he could react, Jade reached out, gripping his chin.
And then her lips met his.
Soft.
Warm.
Shocking.
His eyes went wide. He tried to activate his Spirit Eyes, but Jade's Soul Power crushed his resistance effortlessly.
A sweet, intoxicating fragrance filled his lungs, and his thoughts began to blur.
> Damn it… this must be—
He realized too late: this was a spell. A binding ritual disguised as a kiss.
His mind slipped into darkness as the world faded.
But even as consciousness slipped away, Ethan found himself thinking with grim humor—
> The Saintess… has no honor.
She used trickery. A sneak attack.
Is this bad? …Honestly? Not bad at all. Next time, please—
---
As Ethan's breathing slowed, Jade finally released him.
Her face was flushed, her lips glistening.
Ethan's mental strength had far exceeded her expectations; subduing him had taken real effort.
Even she was panting.
But the ritual was complete.
She had planted the Holy Spirit Mark — a unique imprint within Ethan's soul.
As he grew stronger, so would the mark.
And no matter what paths he took, the Cult would always hold the power to end his life with a single thought.
"How did it go?"
Zhongli Wu's voice echoed through the room.
He had appeared without sound, his expression calm but his eyes gleaming.
Jade straightened instantly, her cheeks still faintly red.
"Grandfather — it's done."
Her voice wavered slightly; faint scratches marred the smooth skin of her chest where Ethan had resisted.
Zhongli Wu nodded in approval.
"Good. Whether he'll truly devote himself to our cause depends on you now. Make him fall for you completely — body and soul. But remember," he warned, his tone sharp, "the Holy Son's Martial Soul is mental-type. Unless absolutely necessary, we cannot risk damaging his mind."
"I understand, Grandfather," Jade replied softly.
Zhongli Wu said no more.
He turned away, already deep in thought.
His next step was to confirm Ethan's background. Every soul master left records in the Empire's archives upon awakening their Martial Soul.
Even if the Duke's Mansion had been obliterated, those files still existed somewhere.
Only once Ethan's origins were verified would Zhongli Wu commit the full might of the Cult to nurturing him — even to godhood.
---
Ironically, neither he nor Ethan knew that years ago, Lady Whitlock, in her obsession to erase Yuna and her son from history, had used her royal connections to alter the records — listing Ethan as the son of a lowly servant.
And now, by that cruel twist of fate, she had unwittingly given the Holy Spirit Cult's chosen "Holy Son" the perfect disguise.
---
(End of Chapter 5)