Herbert in the Eyes of the Cultivators

Under the guidance of Father Kaplan, the farce came to a swift end.

In less than a quarter of an hour, the two monks who had "maliciously reported" Herbert were escorted away to the Hall of Penance. There, they would undergo twelve hours of surveillance until they confessed every single one of their transgressions. This alone was enough to break them, to say nothing of the subsequent interrogation—a process the punishing nuns of the Inquisition preferred to call a "baptism," though it involved far more than mere physical torment; it was total mental annihilation.

With the spectacle over, Herbert remained in the main hall. He stood tall, his back straight, calmly meeting the varied gazes of the surrounding monks. Yet, inside, he was far less composed than he appeared. He had successfully cleared his name this time and left a profound impression on the others, but what about next time? Could he really count on his silver tongue to save him again?

*Strength,* Herbert sighed inwardly. *Everything comes down to strength.*

If he were stronger, no one would dare provoke him so easily without careful consideration. If he were stronger, he wouldn't have felt the need to come to the Inquisition seeking refuge in the first place.

"I must find a way to grow stronger, or at least be able to protect myself."

The need for power was urgent. Herbert had to find a way to conquer the third level of the Prison of No Light; he needed to find an opportunity to have a real conversation with the Dark Elf Archmage. *Listen, friend, I get it if you’re antisocial and don't want to see me, but don't block me from entering the next level! Just let me pass!*

Herbert was so desperate to reach the fourth zone of the Alien Prison because it contained the exact environmental conditions he needed right now: the Lava Hell. In that scorching, flame-filled region, he could leverage the inheritance of the Dragon King to rapidly enhance the strength of his physical body.

"How do I coax her out of that hole? Food-based trapping probably won't work anymore—who even knows what Dark Elves like to eat?"

As he pondered this, he instinctively moved to rub his chin, but the motion pulled at the muscles in his left palm, causing the wound that had not yet fully scabbed over to split open once more.

*Hiss.*

He winced, suppressing the urge to curse. At that exact moment, a drop of blood, shimmering with a crystalline luster, slid from his palm and hit the floor.

*Sizzle.*

Where the blood landed, the dark stone of the hall began to change.

A halo of light, one meter in diameter, expanded from the spot, revealing vibrant, intricately ornate patterns etched into the floor.

"Huh? Did he use holy water?"

"What?"

The monks of the Inquisition were no strangers to this phenomenon; the floor underwent the same transformation whenever they used holy water for their monthly cleansing rituals. Only under the radiance of Holy Light did the hall reveal its true form.

"That’s... Holy Blood?"

Kaplan noticed it as well. Knowing more than the others, her brow twitched as she asked Herbert, "Herbert, did you personally produce Holy Blood today?"

"Yes."

Herbert nodded calmly, picking up a scrap of cloth to re-bandage his hand. "I was attacked by a prisoner in the Alien Prison and was forced to use Holy Blood to defend myself."

He spoke with such detachment, recounting the harrowing experience in the most mundane tone—though, in truth, it hadn't been that difficult. It was just a pathetic, starving vampire who had been locked up so long it was basically a walking mummy. Hardly worth mentioning.

Herbert didn't think much of it, but the others were oblivious to the reality. For a moment, everyone looked at him with awe. To the others in the monastery, prisoners held in the Alien Prison were terrifyingly powerful and dangerous. The fact that Herbert had managed to escape them, even at a cost, was nothing short of miraculous.

Kaplan, however, knew a bit more about the conditions inside; she knew that as long as the warden didn't do anything reckless, they generally suffered nothing more than psychological trauma. She frowned, confused. "Why didn't you draw holy water from the sanctuary?"

Outside, holy water was a source of income for the church, sold to adventurers, but within the monastery, it was the most common substance imaginable. Everyone could take it freely, and it was even used for cleaning during rituals; it was scarcely more precious than tap water.

"I could have used it?" Herbert smiled, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't care. "No one ever told me that. I didn't know if I had the authorization to take any."

The monks fell silent again. This time, their gazes toward Herbert were filled with sympathy and admiration. No one was a fool; they all understood the implication behind his words—he was being targeted. If he couldn't even use holy water, then he was being denied everything else as well.

Piecing together the scene, the image of Herbert in their minds became clear: he was like a proud swan. Even when suspected, he disdained to offer an explanation until he was forced to strike back. He was being ostracized, yet he refused to bow his head; he would rather hurt himself, break his own wings, and use his own blood to create Holy Blood than "steal" what was his by right.

Kaplan’s previously calm expression finally shifted, a flicker of anger crossing her face. She turned to look at a nun who was hanging her head, and the reason became clear. Among the monks, there were those who held grudges against Herbert due to his past. While no one had acted openly, there was indeed a faction secretly sidelining him.

Kaplan stared at the nun until the woman's shoulders began to tremble before she finally looked away. She didn't make a scene; instead, she walked down from the dais to Herbert's side and gently took his hand.

Warm light radiated from her, and Herbert felt an itchy, pleasant sensation in his palm as his flesh knit back together. A few breaths later, when Kaplan unwrapped the blood-stained cloth, the wound had completely healed.

The punishing nun released Herbert and tapped his shoulder gently. "From now on, you may take any resources you need from the sanctuary."

"Thank you, Father."

A short while later, Herbert left the Inquisition with the other monks. He had secretly told Kaplan about the "Grass Carp Brother" incident, but she had given no reaction, only saying that the Chief Inquisitor was already aware and that he shouldn't worry or speak of it to others.

Kaplan’s overly calm reaction left Herbert uneasy. He didn't know if the higher-ups were baiting a trap or what they were planning, and he didn't want to know. Herbert only cared about his own delicate skin; he didn't want any future "black history" involving him being used as bait.

After much deliberation, Herbert decided to save himself. That night, for the sake of his own safety, he didn't stay quietly in his room. Instead, he went somewhere else.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm? Can't you tell?"

Herbert, wearing his night robe, looked back at Valentina, who was staring at him with a bizarre expression. He smiled. "I came to sleep with you!"

"...Ah?"

Valentina: ???