Chapter 127 – Silas's Invitation
Juan didn't press the issue any further — merely added a passing comment before changing the subject.
Their conversation had run its course. Both men prepared to leave the underground chamber.
"Ah, before I forget," Hans suddenly said, turning back as if remembering something trivial.
"That nun, Heidi — she's been a little too enthusiastic lately."
Juan's expression cooled immediately.
"Don't concern yourself. She's just a girl obsessed with power. If necessary, I'll make sure she offers herself to the Lord."
Hans nodded approvingly.
---
At the entrance of the Relief Home, sunlight spilled across the courtyard where children were playing.
Hans wore his warmest smile again, the kind that disarmed suspicion.
"These children are still young," he told Heidi softly. "Be patient with them. Don't let them get hurt."
He drew a cross over his chest, voice gentle, solemn.
"The Lord sees your devotion, Sister. You will be blessed for it."
Heidi's eyes brightened — she understood. To her, the Archbishop's words were divine affirmation.
Moments later, Hans climbed into his truck. He rolled down the window one last time.
"Sister Heidi," he called, "tell the children I'll definitely come to watch their performance."
He waved, that same benevolent smile on his face — and the truck rumbled away from the Relief Home.
---
Dey Commercial Street – "The House of Rest"
Barefoot and focused, Judy carefully wiped the dust from a tall wooden cabinet with a white cloth.
When one section was spotless, she gently placed a small relic back into its proper place.
"Phew…" she exhaled, wiping her brow. Several rows of cabinets still awaited her attention.
She looked at them with mild despair and shook her head.
It had been a few days since she'd helped Aunt Mia complete the exorcism. Afterward, her parents had gone to Dey Cathedral.
Not long after their return, they began preparing for a long journey — packing their exorcism instruments, sealing their notes, and making quiet arrangements.
Before they left, her mother had knelt in front of her and whispered:
"Father Gideon is extraordinary, Judy. Learn as much as you can from him."
At the time, Judy was thrilled.
She'd always dreamed of training under Father Gideon — learning holy rites, sacred prayers, maybe even a little real exorcism.
But when she arrived at his shop, she found herself assigned… to cleaning duty.
When she complained, Gideon simply smiled and told her,
"Every true master starts as an apprentice, and every apprentice learns through humility."
Judy wasn't entirely convinced — but she couldn't argue. After all, she'd already moved in.
Her mornings had taken on a new rhythm. Father Gideon would wake her at dawn, dragging her out of bed for study and practice.
The hardest part, however, wasn't the early rising — it was the cleansing ritual for her eyes.
Back home, her mother used to dab a few drops of holy water on her eyelids. But Father Gideon… brought out an entire basin.
"Let your eyes be fully immersed in the sanctity of the water," he said calmly.
Judy had tried — though every time, she could only endure the sting for a few moments. It burned… but it worked.
Each day, her vision sharpened a little more.
Where she once saw faint silhouettes of wandering spirits, she could now glimpse the faint shimmer of evil aura — drifting, malignant traces of demonic presence.
"That's the corruption demons carry," Father Gideon had told her. "When you see it — stay far away."
Of course, every trace she saw had already been purified by him.
Still, she'd noticed something strange: those dark traces were becoming more frequent.
Father Gideon had noticed, too.
His vigilance had increased — he'd placed dozens of sacred relics around the shop, far more than the inventory they actually sold.
The overprotection puzzled her.
Meanwhile, Father Gideon himself had been locked away in his back room for days. A pungent herbal scent occasionally drifted out from behind the closed door.
When she'd asked what he was doing, he simply replied:
"No minors allowed."
Judy had sulked for hours after that.
Now, as she wiped the last shelf clean, the door to the shop suddenly creaked open.
"Father Gideon, I'm here for the holy oil — as we agreed," came a man's voice.
The visitor was a broad-shouldered man named Bente, a familiar face in the local parish.
His eyes fell on the barefoot girl inside the shop.
"Oh," he said, blinking, then repeated politely,
"I've come to collect the holy oil."
Startled, Judy stiffened a little. She wasn't used to dealing with customers.
After a moment's hesitation, she nodded quickly and dashed to the back room.
She knocked.
"Father Gideon! Someone's here!"
A muffled voice came through the door:
"No haggling! Take it or leave it!"
Bente, standing near the counter, couldn't help smiling — clearly, this wasn't the first time.
Judy looked embarrassed. She'd already watched several customers storm out in frustration over the Father's "non-negotiable" prices.
"It's one of the scheduled orders!" she called again, knocking harder.
---
Inside the back room, Father Gideon was just sealing a small glass vial of refined holy oil.
Hearing Judy, he raised an eyebrow. "It should be that kid from before—perfect timing."
The vial in his hand was the very holy oil Bente had ordered. He'd been working on it for days. Making a one-year-grade holy oil wasn't difficult; getting the oil to remain at a two-week grade without accidentally boosting it took care and practice. A single slip and the oil's quality would climb—wasting ingredients. After several tries, he'd finally learned the right heat and timing.
From his observations on Dey Street, students who buy relics weren't always chasing the highest grades, as he'd expected. Most of them actually preferred items made very recently. That mismatch explained why The House of Rest's business had been slow: many customers came in awed by the high-grade wares but rarely bought. Gideon decided it was time to shift tactics and stock what the market actually demanded.
"Here's your oil."
Bente wiped his hands on his clothes and took the vial with reverent care. "It's still warm—do you have a new preservation method?" he wondered inwardly.
This time Bente paid without complaint. He was about to leave when the shopkeeper—Father Gideon—brightened and asked in a brisk, earnest tone, "Student, to better serve academy patrons, could you tell me about your experience using the oil?"
Only then did Bente realize what Gideon wanted: customer feedback. It was the first time he'd encountered a vendor soliciting opinions; clerks in other shops had been taciturn. "Sure," Bente said. "We were practicing oil application in class the other day…" He described the classroom incident, and Gideon quietly repeated the name, "Silas."
From Bente's account, Gideon guessed Silas was probably the man who had been skulking outside the shop. A public humiliation like that breeds resentment—classic. Silas's target probably hadn't been Gideon at all. Still, Gideon resolved to look into him, just in case a hidden faction backed the student.
The shop door opened again. Two young men, dressed as priests, stepped in.
"Hey, Bente—good to see you." Silas greeted with exaggerated warmth. "I was just telling Zal out there how similar that figure looked to you."
Bente blinked, surprised to see his friend with Silas; Zal followed, wearing an expression that clearly said he'd been dragged along.
"How did you two end up together?" Bente asked, blunt.
Silas smiled, as practiced as ever. "I just took a dangerous rated contract and the instructors were all busy. I thought I'd invite you and Zal along." He glanced around the shop with a casually appraising air. "And maybe pick up a few more exorcism tools while I'm at it."