I took a step backwards, before swiftly making my way back inside of the church.
Some might call it a cowardly move, but in my mind, I had no other choice.
After reading the description of the ritual, my mind was filled with new memories.
First of all, the ritual circle had appeared a week ago, after my last church service. Its location made it so that I was unable to exit my church without stepping through it.
And so, I had been trapped within my church for a week.
Zaven was terrified of the ritual before I was transmigrated into his body. That must mean that it's dangerous.
He had even sent a messenger pigeon to the nearby village to cancel this week's sermon.
Fear came involuntarily, but I tried my best to shut it down whilst I gathered my thoughts.
There seemed to be many different danger levels that a ritual could appear as. Before transmigration, Zaven had never entered a ritual above the danger level of "Low", which often consisted of battles against wild animals.
So, in reality, I had no clue whether or not I was capable of completing a Moderate Ritual with my skill set.
But the reward... Its rank was B.
Noting that none of my skills were above rank C, and my weapon was a mere E rank, earning such a reward would be revolutionary.
However, I had to keep in mind that this life had been gifted to me. If I threw it away by being a fool, I would never forgive myself.
And so, I came to a decision.
I would spend another week inside of the Church regathering my memories and practising my skills, before finally meeting with the Author's Ghost once again.
As the author, I knew that she must have some tips that I could use to pass a B-rank ritual, and she'd also be able to guide me further along in the world and tell me how I can free her from captivity.
I knew that I had enough food and water in my storage to survive, so that was no problem.
However, I did wonder just how bad it could be to spend a week alone in the confines of a dark ancient church.
———
The week went by faster than I had expected, and I swiftly found out that being alone did not bother me.
Perhaps it was because of my life on earth, living without parents, siblings or friends.
But what also played a large part in it, was keeping myself busy.
I spent the first few days familiarising myself with my abilities.
First, I practised Storm Step.
It was a speed-based ability which granted me the ability to dash in an instant in the direction of my choice.
The ability allowed me to travel roughly two meters in distance and seemed to have some sort of cool down.
It wasn't using the skill itself that put a toll on my body, but rather taking in the essence that allowed me to do so. It was as though I was drawing an external power into my veins, which slowly exhausted my mind and body.
However, there was no calculated time between usage, nor did I have a way to measure just how much energy it used. But over time, I knew that I would begin to be able to make estimates.
After getting the hand of Storm Step, dashing around the church accompanied by the sound of lightning, I moved on to the next ability.
Thunder Sheathe.
This ability allowed me to draw essence into my hand, and rub it across the blade of my weapon, covering it in a yellow shroud of lightning.
The sword sparked as I held it in my hand, and the powers of the storm ran through me.
I noticed that the ability could last hours, as long as I didn't swing the blade too vigorously. Of course, if I landed a strike on someone, the ability would run out quicker.
I didn't test the Spark ability, as the description and my memories told me that it had the chance to destroy the walls of the church if used indoors.
As I continued to practice the skills, more information about my character ran through my head. Slowly, I felt myself thinking less about my old identity, and becoming the man that was Zaven Pureheart.
His tales were tragic.
As a youth, he had spent his days living in a nearby village named Ashven. His father had been a powerful Priest named Leo, who owned the church that I know owned and used as a home.
However, one day, Leo went off to join the war between the Orthodox Creadists and the Reformist Creadists, ultimately losing his life in battle.
Zaven took over his church at the age of eighteen and was now twenty-two. Alongside his congregations, he had slowly been entering nearby rituals and powering up his skills.
He started as the first rank within the Creadist Class, which was Believer, and then broke through to the next rank, Follower, after learning his first ability.
After four years, he broke through to the third rank, which was Priest, which was where I currently was after transmigration.
But Zaven's story would not end there.
I still had much to achieve.
The next sunday night, I stood in the dimly lit room with the wooden bowl placed at the centre and the knife lying across.
I lifted the knife and hovered my hand above the bowl before slicing it into my palm in the exact same manner as before.
"Shit! Couldn't she have chosen a less painful method of initiating the ritual?"
I watched as my blood slowly dripped into the bowl and filled it up until it was halfway, and the wound had dried.
Then, the familiar wind washed into my room once again, coalescing into a physical form which floated above the bowl.
The ethereal beauty that was the author was before me once again. Her long hair flowed with the wind, and the constant smile on her pretty face.
It felt good to see her again.
Rubiana tilted her head slightly to the side and looked at me with a pleasant expression.
"Zaven, it's good to see that you are still alive. Let us talk quickly so that our time does not run out."