The more they oppose, the more it shows that I am doing the right thing

Wellington was twelve years old this year, a carpenter's child.

He had no mother, for his mother had died in childbirth, and furthermore, he was not blessed by the Holy Light.

There was only a sparse amount of light elements within his body.

The majority of it was consumed by darkness, and although not nearly as concentrated as An Su, the "Child of the Curse" who was one in a thousand, he also bore the disdainful title of a Child of Darkness.

Unlike An Su, young Wellington did not have the fortune of a carefree childhood. Even though the darkness inside him was far less than what resided in An Su.

His father blamed him for his mother's death, and when he was just six years old, he was driven out of home.

Wellington could find no work, not a single restaurant or daily store wanted to hire a Child of Darkness.

Wellington survived by begging, suffering discrimination and insults—this was the childhood of many a Child of the Curse.

Despite the difficulty, he managed to keep living in the city.

As usual, before the dew had even moistened the whole morning, he got up, holding his tattered little bowl, climbing out from the dark, damp sewers to beg in the morning market for his meals for the day.

If he were late, the city management would wake up and drive them away.

If luck was on his side, maybe he would find one or two rotten dead fish, and along with the mushrooms he picked, that would be enough for a day's meal.

Wellington's wish was to taste what cake was like. His grandmother had told him that children who were able to taste cake were loved by Heaven, they were blessed children, who could enter heaven after death.

Unfortunately, his grandmother was already dead, and he had not had the chance to taste what cake was like.

He would turn thirteen this year, surviving by begging, living in this city for thirteen years, until today.

The uncle did not seem to be someone from city management, wearing a hood, his face was unclear. He told Wellington that there was cake to eat if he followed him.

Wellington followed him.

But he did not get to taste the cake.

Wellington was hooded with a sack and hustled onto a carriage.

He shouted loudly, knowing perhaps someone passing by heard him, but who would care, who would care about a little beggar being taken, a Child of Darkness?

Without them, the city might be a little cleaner.

In this city, people were abducted every day, every day someone would disappear.

Even the saints of the Church wouldn't care about a beggar being kidnapped.

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What they wanted was to eradicate the dens of the Esoteric Religion to obtain the faith points of the Mother Goddess.

The more frequent the abductions, the easier it was for the dens of the Esoteric Religion to expose themselves.

Wellington didn't know how far he had been taken; maybe he had left the city and was in a desolate wilderness. He could feel the day had turned dark, and the surroundings were terrifyingly quiet.

After the blindfold was removed, Wellington saw an altar.

The altar was piled with white skulls, and blazing torches splashed blood-like light everywhere, while men wearing bright gold masks circled the altar, loudly chanting something.

The uncle who drove the carriage pushed him onto the altar.

"Any last words?"

Young Wellington didn't know what was going to happen next; he had no concept of sacrifice, but he understood that he was about to face death, an unmatched fear descending upon his mind.

"I... I haven't tasted cake yet," he muttered, "I haven't tasted cake yet..."

...He had not yet tasted cake, he could not enter heaven after death.

Wellington was not afraid of death, for he knew his grandmother had been a good person all her life, so surely a good person could go to heaven.

But he was a Child of Darkness, he was not a good person, he had not tasted cake, was not blessed by the Holy Light, he could not enter heaven.

Then he could not reunite with his grandmother.

His grandmother had been waiting for him in heaven for six years,

In those six years, he had been trying to save money, trying to survive, wanting to buy a piece of cake to taste. Then he would be ready to go to heaven and find his grandmother, ready to die in peace.

But his money always disappeared, perhaps taken by city management, perhaps stolen by thieves.

He had not tasted cake yet, and now he was about to die.

He was about to break his promise to his grandmother—that was what young Wellington feared the most.

The Priest listened to young Wellington's words and laughed contemptuously,

"Pointless... the Mother Goddess won't like it; you better cry out, that's what will please her."

Wellington's shoulders trembled, and he closed his eyes.

The Priest was about to prepare for the ritual, but suddenly, he heard a noisy commotion outside.

He immediately sensed something was wrong; could it be that the location of their base had been exposed?

But he saw a follower rush over to the Priest and said with a strange look on his face, "It's just a young man. He didn't bring others with him."

"A young man?" The Priest's eyes widened.

"Yes." The follower paused, with a peculiar expression he added, "He says he's here for our 'silver party'."

"And, I can feel it, the dark elements in him are not low..."

The Priest soon saw the youth:

He was brought in by several Cultists, wrapped in a thick cotton jacket and gray trousers, dressed rather bulkily, and with a hood for warmth on his head, a very wise face, and a pair of eyes that revealed a bit of clear intelligence.

"Give me a lift, will you?"

He seemed quite shy and polite as he entered, rubbing his hands together and showing a pleasing smile, "One sacrifice is still a sacrifice, and so are two..."

What kind of hero's attire is this?

The Priest was almost amused to anger.

Did this child think this was all fun and exciting?

"What is your name?" the Priest asked.

"Um... I like sacrifices, I find them very interesting, and my dream is to become a Pope of the Church when I grow up."

After a moment of thought, the boy said, "Call me Xianzong."

Xianzong...?

Such an audacious name.

The Priest felt the kid was mocking him.

He immediately became angry, "Alright, alright, Xianzong, come here."

In all his years in this line of work, he had never seen anyone so eager to come forward for a sacrifice!

Not a shred of respect for his profession!

Never mind if there was some trickery,

If he didn't sacrifice this boy today, then all his years would have been lived in vain!

He ordered his subordinates to prepare the materials, and pushed him next to Wellington.

Wellington stared at the newcomer, "Are you a child of darkness too? Have you ever eaten cake... "

"Cake?" the person was taken aback.

"Because we are sinners..." Wellington said, "Only if we have eaten cake can we go to heaven."

"Have you ever stolen anything?" he asked.

"No."

"Have you ever robbed money?"

"No."

"Then why do you think you're a sinner?"

"Because... they say we are sinners."

"I don't think we are sinners,"

Xianzong turned his head, his eyes hidden under the hood, reflecting a bright light.

"Kid, you're not guilty... they are the ones who are guilty, and you should live more righteously."

He whispered softly,

"Now close your eyes, cover your ears, Enya, use Secret Magic to block his five senses—count to sixty in your heart, yes, just like that, wait until after you leave here, then go to Chenxing Manor and ask the steward for a piece of cake, knowing they will give it to you."

"Yes, close your eyes like that, cover your ears. Be obedient, and don't you dare open your eyes."

—"I have come to sacrifice their sins."

For some reason, Wellington chose to trust him, closing his eyes, covering his ears, and silently counting down in his heart.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"..."

Wellington didn't know what was happening around him; he faintly heard the youth's low chanting, but couldn't make out the specifics.

The silence around him was terrifying.

Finally, Wellington counted to sixty and opened his eyes.

Everything around him had disappeared.

The terrifying men had vanished without a trace, the cold moonlight gilded the altar, as if covered with layers of silver frost.

The big brother who was beside him was also gone, replaced by a small bag of coins.

The sharp coat, the stylish cotton trousers, and the unadorned face revealing a hint of clear intelligence were deeply etched in little Wellington's mind, as vivid as fireflies in the night.

"Xianzong..."

A dream quietly sprouted in the heart of the youth.