Origin Artifact World, the town outside the white mist.
It was now noon. On the left side of the town stood a white church, over ten meters tall.
Inside one of the church's rooms, Oliver slowly opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling in a daze.
'Where am I? Wasn't I in that special city?' Oliver felt pain all over, yet it was far better than the forced shutdown from being beaten earlier.
A faint smell of antiseptic and special medicine drifted in the room. Oliver slowly propped himself against the headboard, seeing his bandaged body and the sunlight outside the window.
It all proved he had survived—escaped that terrifying city alive.
'That city is no joke. The one who beat me half to death clearly wanted to kill me, yet for some reason he stopped.' Oliver closed his eyes and began to recall.
He felt something odd about the whole affair, but could not put his finger on it.
Creak! Just then, the door opened; Harold walked in carrying a tray loaded with medicines.
Hearing the noise, Oliver turned toward the doorway.
Seeing Oliver awake, Harold froze for a second, then strode over in delight. 'Lord Oliver, you're finally awake! I've been so worried!'
Looking at the excited Harold, Oliver recalled how the man had led him through the fog.
After a moment he said slowly, 'Harold, thank you for saving me. I, Oliver, will surely repay you!'
Without Harold he would have died for certain.
Harold waved it off. 'Lord Oliver, no need. I only care that you survived. After so many years here I'm past caring about rewards.'
As they spoke, hurried footsteps approached outside.
Klan and Quinna strode in upon hearing the commotion. At the sight of Oliver, Klan looked even more excited than Harold. 'Lord Oliver, you're awake at last—I was worried sick!'
'Lord Oliver, are you all right? We wanted to take you to hospital, but there's no Source-Artifact User hospital nearby, and ordinary hospitals can't pierce your skin. We could only treat you here until you're well enough to move.' Quinna spoke respectfully from the side.
Seeing that the once-hundred-strong Holy Soldier Squad was reduced to these two—his follower Lucas hadn't returned—Oliver looked desolate. 'Alas, my carelessness cost everyone.'
Harold's face showed guilt. 'Lord Oliver, don't blame yourself. It's my fault; if only I'd had more intelligence, everyone might still be alive.'
Oliver glanced at Harold, Klan, and Quinna. 'Harold, this isn't on you. A normal man could do little in there. Tell me how you escaped the city after I passed out.'
Hearing this, Quinna stepped forward. 'Lord Oliver, after you fainted we entered a church…'
She described everything inside the church: the strange painting, and how they finally escaped through the white mist behind a mirror.
Oliver listened with a frown, then asked, 'Why did the city's master let us go when he could have wiped us out?'
Quinna and Klan wore the same bewilderment; they did not believe he had suddenly grown merciful.
Harold said gravely, 'Lord Oliver, perhaps he didn't want to make an eternal enemy of the Eternal Church. With your exalted status, the Church would never let it rest if you died there.'
'Harold's right. Losing a few Resonators and Controllers is no great trouble, but killing a Dominator might provoke retaliation. The Eternal Church is a top imperial power; ordinary Source-Artifact Users can't afford to offend it.' Quinna nodded in agreement.
Klan suddenly added, 'Lord Oliver, I've reported everything to Patriarch Malo; he's on his way here now.'
Oliver nodded, then turned to Harold. 'Harold, pack your things. When we leave, ask for anything you want—you saved my life.'
Quinna and Klan looked on enviously.
This was Oliver Garcia, not only a Dominator in strength but backed by a powerful clan.
His grandfather, Malo Garcia, was the Patriarch governing the region—virtually an emperor here.
They expected Harold to ask for status or money, yet he said earnestly, 'Lord Oliver, I worked half my life just to become a Sacrifice Master. I'd be lying if I said I didn't crave more, but more than anything I wish to follow you, Oliver Garcia!'
His tone was sincere, his eyes full of hope as he looked at Oliver.
Quinna and Klan glanced at Harold in surprise.
Everyone knew Oliver was almost certain to be the next Patriarch; to follow him was to rise in one step.
Oliver smiled. 'Harold, since you wish it, I won't refuse. I happen to need a follower; you'll work for me from now on.'
'Yes, my lord! I will be utterly loyal!' Harold exclaimed in delight.
Yet a cold smirk flashed in his eyes.