Light and the others stood before the silver door they had emerged from. It was nestled between two buildings in an empty alley, flanked by trash cans on either side. Beyond it lay the street. He couldn't quite fathom why no one seemed to notice its presence, but he chose not to dwell on the mystery as they prepared to enter.
Troy and his men had already left. Despite them becoming his followers, Light had no intention of involving them for now. He pushed the door open and stepped through.
They arrived in the same place as usual. After ascending the stairs, they found themselves in the sewers.
"Home, not-so-sweet home," Light muttered.
He turned to Kratch. "Leave someone here to guard this place."
Kratch nodded silently.
Eager to check his progress, Light headed straight to the barracks. He accessed the system and saw that the construction was 98% complete—just 2% to go.
"Nyx is here! Where did you go, Master Light... moo... why didn't you tell Nyx?"
The ever-cheerful halfratkin girl appeared, as bubbly and adorable as ever, greeting Light with unrestrained enthusiasm.
"I'll tell you later, Nyx. Is your job already done? Come with me—we're going to check out the barracks!" Light said with a grin. "Maybe you'll become powerful!"
"Really? Nyx is so happy—wait! Master Light, that's not important right now. Nyx has a problem to tell you!"
Nyx's tone grew solemn, and Light immediately sensed the seriousness in her voice. His brow furrowed. "What is it?"
"My baby was almost caught by a bad guy! But the bigger problem is that the bad guy became suspicious and found the trail leading to my baby here!"
Light's frown deepened. "Where is he now?"
"He's resting!"
Moments later, inside the Great Hall, a ratkin lay on a bed. His face was pale, and his body was covered in serious injuries.
Ikarius
Gender: Male
Race: Ratkin
Rank: Soldier Class
Energy: 150
'Ikarius… who is he again? Oh, my twelfth child,' Light thought.
With so many children, how could he possibly remember them all? Many fathers could probably relate, but fortunately, he had the system to keep track.
"Tell me what happened, Ikarius," Light asked.
"It was the churches," Ikarius began, his voice weak. "I was on my way home after robbing a popular store when a group of white-clad men appeared and blocked my path. They didn't even let me explain before they started attacking me!"
Light narrowed his eyes. "How do you know they were from the churches?"
"They were racist, so obviously, they were from the churches," Ikarius replied with a bitter cough. "They kept talking about their god too! Thanks to my big brother, I managed to escape, but I think they've found our base. I'm sorry, Father..."
Light leaned back slightly in his chair, lost in thought. Months have already passed... has the church finally started moving?
Since his arrival in this world and his transformation into a ratkin, the first thing he had to do was steal to survive. Months had passed since the ratkin began their thieving ways, yet he noticed something peculiar: the churches, and even the feared Witchfinders, seemed indifferent. Only the Enforcers bothered to investigate.
Given the circumstances, he expected their actions to eventually draw unwanted attention, but oddly, they had not.
This led him to a conclusion: there must be some pressing matter occupying the focus of all major organizations. Their collective inattention suggested that whatever was happening elsewhere demanded their full attention, leaving them blind to what was unfolding in their own backyard.
However, that assumption had led him to carelessness.
'They've already found our base. At this point, the Cleansing isn't the biggest concern—it's the retaliation that comes before it.'
Light glanced at everyone. "Fortunately, we have two pieces of good news: we found a new home, and the barracks are nearly complete."
"We can now start training soldiers. At the very least, we'll be able to resist…"
He stood up and turned to Ikarius. "You can rest for now. We'll take care of things here."
The most important task now was to train soldiers—to build their combat forces. He then turned to Ignatius.
"Have all the ratkin retreat. From now on, no one goes to the surface anymore—we've found a new place."
...
"A rat humanoid?" Silas Withmore muttered, looking down at the report. His brow furrowed as he scratched his head so hard it nearly bled. His hand suddenly stopped.
Silas rose from his seat and left his office, making his way to the church's library. He searched through the books, trying to find anything resembling humanoid rats. However, no matter how long he looked, he found nothing. In the end, he grabbed a book on monsters and entities.
He read for hours, unsure of how much time had passed. Yet, he found nothing about humanoid rats. There were creatures called Plaguespawn, but they were merely mutated rats, not humanoids.
Rubbing his bald head, he felt a wet sensation. He looked at his hand and saw blood. With a sigh, he wiped it off on his white robe.
After that, he returned to his office and called for his assistant.
A woman appeared at the door, wearing glasses. She had a stunning figure, blonde hair tucked beneath her nun's habit, and captivating eyes—almost seductive. However, no matter how alluring she was, Silas remained indifferent.
"Get someone to investigate this—a humanoid rat," Silas ordered. "Perhaps it's a new race or a godspawn. We can't be certain. However, since it appeared in the sewers, it's likely a Dark Creature. I want you to investigate, and if possible, capture one. I want to see its full appearance."
The nun assistant nodded, thinking for a moment before speaking respectfully. "Since this seems dangerous, who should we send, Father Silas?"
Silas considered her question. "Send those who are skilled in investigation."
He rested his hand on the table and added, "But don't provoke them yet. Just observe. Once we understand what they truly are, then we can eradicate them."
"Understood. Should we alert the Empire and the higher-ups?"
"No. First, we need to assess them ourselves. If they're weak, we can eliminate them quietly. If they're strong and pose a threat to the church and the Empire, then we report it."
"Understood." The nun assistant nodded and left.
Now alone, Silas sighed. He stood by the window, watching the sunlight bathe the world. Yet, despite its warmth, he still felt a chilling cold.
He reached into a cabinet and pulled out an item. It was ancient-looking, an artifact resembling an eye. No intricate patterns, no embellishments—just a simple object. Yet, no matter how plain it seemed, it brought him nothing but trouble.
This item was meant to deceive the church—something Silas had purchased from the black market. He, who had lost his faith in God, knew that without it, he would be purposeless. Nothing. If the church ever discovered that a high-ranking member had lost his faith, punishment would be inevitable. Though it wouldn't be death, he would be stripped of his position and power.
He would become like any other commoner—powerless, without status, without wealth.
Silas couldn't allow that. He still had a goal to achieve. Not yet. Not until the day he died.