Edward stared at the system's offer. The words glowed with a cold, final authority.
Permanently sever. Irreversible. The language was not that of a simple upgrade. It was the language of a fundamental, soul-altering transformation. A bargain. A pact. A one-way door into a deeper, more profound darkness.
He looked at the word "holy." He thought of the burning, searing pain of the Templars' chains. The agony from Valerius's blessed silver sword.
The "divine" systems of his world had only ever brought him judgment and suffering. They were the weapons of his enemies. The tools of a corrupt, hypocritical order that had branded him a heretic.
To sever his connection to that world, to that power, was not a sacrifice. It was a liberation.
A declaration of independence. A final, defiant severing of the last thread that bound him to the society that had cast him out.
His hesitation was not born of fear. But of a cold, pragmatic calculation. The Inquisition was now his sworn enemy.
