Wizard: My skills can be upgraded indefinitely.

Explore the fantasy novel genre; there's bound to be one that suits you.

In the early morning, sunlight streamed through the stone window, casting a warm glow.

Ansen sat cross-legged on the hard wooden bed and took out a colorless crystal from his pocket.

The crystal was only the size of a fingernail, completely transparent, with a faint golden light slowly flickering inside.

This was a sliver of his faith power that he had intercepted, combined with the simplest energy solidification runes, to create a makeshift gadget.

Although it was simple, he was confident that no one would notice the monastery.

Anson closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into his mental sea, where pale gold writing appeared at the edge of his vision.

[Unknown energy detected, tentatively named: Power of Faith (Cult of Light - Initial Purification)]

[Energy Nature: A weakened version of soul power, mixed with a large amount of believer's emotional impurities]

【主要成分：虔诚(43%)、敬畏(22%)、依赖(15%)、恐惧(8%)、其他(12%)】

Energy density: Approximately 1/30 of the magic power of the same volume.

[Convertibility: Unknown]

Anson opened his eyes, his fingertips lightly tracing the crystal surface as he lowered his head in thought.

"A weakened version of soul power..."

The power of faith is essentially the outward manifestation of the spiritual energy of believers.

When believers pray, have faith, and make offerings, their souls experience a special kind of fluctuation.

This fluctuation is captured by sacred objects or idols, then purified and compressed through hidden arrays of runes, ultimately transforming into divine power that can be absorbed by the gods.

The problem is that the believers' souls are too weak and mixed with too many distracting thoughts.

Piety, awe, dependence, fear... these emotions are also part of faith, but they are all impurities.

What the gods need is pure soul energy.

"That's why the Divine Court needs to establish such a vast network of faith." Anson looked at the crystal in his hand, a golden glint flashing in his eyes.

"Using the soul fluctuations of billions of believers as raw materials, through layers of filtration and purification, it is finally condensed into a higher level of divine power."

"And the filtering process involves stigmata, church statues, prayer rituals..."

"The entire Divine Court system is essentially a massive, multi-world-covering... soul energy purification factory."

He gently held the crystal, his thoughts expanding. Although the energy density of the power of faith was far less than that of magic, its impurities were as high as 100%.

"But what if I could crack the principle behind the transformation of faith power..."

A flicker of fervor flashed in Anson's eyes, but it quickly cooled down.

It's not time yet. This projection is too weak and its understanding of the divine magic system is too shallow. Rashly studying it will only expose itself.

"Accumulate strength first, then make plans." He put the crystal back into his arms and sat cross-legged again.

Consciousness sinks into the sea of ​​the mind, and begins to circulate the remaining energy in the body, simulating the flow of faith power and the release principle of divine magic.

A month passed quietly amidst daily prayers, labor, and study.

The monks of the Holy Light Monastery gradually noticed that the taciturn Anson had changed.

The first to notice something was amiss was Peter, the young monk who shared a room with Anson.

That morning, Peter was awakened by a blinding light.

He opened his eyes groggily and saw Ansen sitting cross-legged on the stone bed opposite him, surrounded by a pale golden halo.

The halo was pure and warm, like the rising sun, much like the holy light that appears only when "divine grace descends" in legends.

Within the halo, faint, intricate runes flowed, making Anson appear even more mysterious.

"An...Anson?!"

Peter sat up abruptly, rubbed his eyes, and wondered if he was still half asleep.

The halo slowly dissipated, and the runes entered Anson's body.

Anson opened his eyes, a golden glint flashing briefly in the depths of his pupils.

"What's wrong?" His voice was calm, completely unlike his previous timid and submissive demeanor.

"You...you were glowing just now!" Peter pointed at Anson, his finger trembling slightly.

"Just like... just like the divine grace recorded in the holy scriptures!"

"Really?" Anson looked down at his hands, palms up, fingers slightly spread.

A faint wisp of golden light wrapped around the fingertip and then slowly dissipated.

"Perhaps you were too focused on your prayers last night and were hallucinating," he said casually, as if he were talking about something trivial.

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately swallowed it back.

He stared at Anson for a long while before muttering, "You...you seem a little different lately."

Anson did not answer, but got up and began to make the bed.

From that day on, Peter noticed that Anson's changes were becoming more and more obvious.

First, there's the focus during prayer. Although Anson used to pray to the stone slab every day, it always gave people the feeling of "completing a task".

His eyes were vacant, his movements mechanical, like a soulless puppet, but now…

Peter had secretly observed several times that Anson's entire demeanor changed when he knelt before the stone slab.

It wasn't piety, nor madness, but rather a kind of... utterly calm focus.

Like a wise man in deep thought.

He recited the prayers slowly, but each syllable was clear and powerful, and the stigmata on the stone slab would glow slightly as he prayed.

Peter was certain that none of this was an illusion.

A week later, in the training ground in the backyard of the monastery.

Anson stood among a group of novice monks, learning the most basic first-level divine spell, "Holy Light Bullet," from his mentor.

"Concentrate your mind, feel the seed of holy light within you, and guide it to your palms..."

The instructor's voice echoed across the training ground.

Most novice cultivators can only condense a faint halo in their palms, which will be extinguished at any time.

Anson raised his right hand, palm up.

A wisp of golden light surged from his palm, quickly condensing into a fist-sized ball of light, its internal energy stable and pure.

"Go," Anson whispered in prayer.

The ball of light flew out of my hand and hit a wooden target thirty meters away.

boom!

A charred crater the size of a bowl was blown open on the surface of the wooden target, with blue smoke rising from its edges.

The training ground fell silent instantly, and all the novice cultivators stared wide-eyed at the crater.

The instructor strode over, examined the extent of the damage to the wooden target, then turned to look at Anson, a look of shock flashing in his eyes.

"You... you've studied Holy Light Bullets before?"

"No," Anson shook his head, "I was just trying it the way you taught me."

The tutor stared at him for several seconds, then finally nodded: "Very good, keep it up."

From that day on, the mentor looked at Anson with a newfound respect.

In the second week, Anson mastered another first-level divine spell, "Holy Light Shield".

This time it didn't happen on the training field, but in an accident.

The monastery's storeroom had been in disrepair for years, and a beam suddenly broke off, falling down on Peter as he was taking inventory of supplies.

Peter was so frightened that he stood frozen in place, forgetting even to dodge.

Just then, Anson raised his hand and released a layer of pale golden light shield, which blocked Peter's head.

The beam slammed into the light shield with a dull thud, and ripples spread across the surface of the shield, but it remained perfectly still.

Peter slumped to the ground, his face deathly pale, gasping for breath. He looked up at Anson, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"When...when did you learn Holy Light Shield?"

"Just yesterday." Anson withdrew his hand, and the light shield slowly dissipated.

He walked to the crossbeam, squatted down, and examined the broken section: "The wood is hollowed out by insects and needs to be replaced."

But the way the other cultivators around him looked at Ansen gradually changed, from initial indifference to curiosity, and now to awe.

In the third week, Anson stood beside the old tree in the monastery's backyard, which had been dead for three years, his hands resting on the tree, his lips silently reciting a prayer.

Warm golden light emanated from his palm, seeping into the trunk through the bark, causing the dead trunk to tremble slightly.

The withered bark has become new again. It exudes a fresh resinous aroma, and tender green buds sprout from the branches, unfolding into leaves.

In just three minutes, a dead old tree was brought back to life.

This scene was witnessed by Vice Dean Caspian, who happened to be passing by.

This forty-something-year-old, stern-faced second-level priest was about to reprimand a few lazy monks.

When he saw the old tree sprouting new buds, he stopped abruptly, his pupils contracted, and his lips parted slightly.

"Touch of Light... Level Two Divine Spell..."

He muttered to himself, his voice filled with disbelief.

He looked at Anson under the tree with a complex expression, a mixture of shock, jealousy, and a hint of fear.

Anson withdrew his hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Of course, it was just a pretense; with his current strength, he wouldn't sweat at all when casting a level two divine spell.

"Lord Caspian." He bowed slightly, his tone respectful.

Kaspian stared at him for several seconds, then finally snorted coldly and turned to leave.

But Anson could sense that the other person was still watching him until he left the backyard.

The resurrection of the dead tree caused quite a stir in the monastery, with the monks discussing it amongst themselves.

"Have you heard? That kid Anson brought that old tree in the backyard back to life!"

"Really? That tree has been dead for three years!"

"I saw it with my own eyes. Lord Kaspian was there too, and his face turned green."

"Wasn't he supposed to be terrible at it? How come suddenly..."

"Perhaps he has finally seen the light; this is the mercy of the great God of Light."

"A stroke of luck? Hmph! I think it's just pure luck!"

Various speculations circulated in the monastery, but Anson remained silent, praying, working, and studying on time every day, as if he didn't care about anything.

It wasn't until the fourth week that Dean Anselm personally summoned him.

The abbot's office is located at the deepest part of the monastery, in a separate stone building.

The room was spacious, and the walls were covered with images of the God of Light: a benevolent shepherd, a majestic judge, and a savior bathed in holy light...

Each portrait exudes a sacred aura, a result of long-term immersion in the power of faith.

Anselm sat behind his oak desk, his hair and beard all white, his face kind, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and the pressure of a third-level priest of light unintentionally spread.

Anson stood in front of the desk and bowed slightly: "Dean."

Anselm did not speak immediately, his gaze sweeping over every inch of Anson's body.

From head to toe, from skin to bone, from flesh to soul.

Anson could feel a warm and powerful force seeping into his body, exploring every detail of his body.

This is Anselm's divine spell: [Soul Insight].

It is specifically used to test the purity of a believer's soul, the strength of their faith, and... whether they have been corrupted by heresy.

Anson remained calm and prepared.

The [Multiverse Projection Descent Technique] is an improved version of the subconscious runes of the universe; how could it be detected by a mere level three priest?

In the perception of [Soul Insight], he is now a lucky person with an extremely pure soul who has just been blessed by God.

Anselm probed for a full three minutes, then slowly withdrew his power.

"Anson," he said in a deep, aged voice, "you've been in the monastery for eighteen years, and your abilities have remained mediocre."

"Why has there been such a rapid improvement in just one month?"

Anson was silent for a moment, then raised his head, his eyes filled with piety, excitement, and a hint of unease.

"Dean..." His voice trembled slightly, as if he was suppressing some kind of emotion.

"A month ago, when I was praying, I felt a warm power flowing into my body."

"That power... is like sunshine, like spring water, like a mother's embrace."

"It cleansed my soul and dispelled my confusion. At that moment, I seemed to hear the whispers of a great deity..."

Tears welled up in his eyes: "He said, 'I see your piety.'"

Anselm's pupils contracted slightly, and his fingers clenched under the table.

"Are you sure... it's the whisper of our god?"

Anson shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm not sure. The sound was so loud, it seemed to come from a very distant place, or it seemed to resonate deep within my soul."

"But the power that appears within me is real." He raised his right hand.

A ray of pure holy light condensed in the palm of his hand, transforming into a small ball of light.

The sphere of light contained intricate runes, a manifestation of divine magic.

"My body and my soul can both feel this blessing."

Anselm stared at the ball of light, his eyes flashing with shock and deep envy.

Generally speaking, the holy light runes condensed by cultivators who have just mastered the second-level divine arts are incomplete and blurry, and they need a long time to practice and gradually improve them.

But the runes inside the ball of light in Anson's palm were complete and clear, as if they had been practiced a thousand times.

This can no longer be explained by talent; it is... divine grace, a true blessing from the God of Light.

Anselm took a deep breath, slowly stood up, walked to Anson, and placed his hand affectionately on his shoulder.

A warm light emanated from his palm and seeped into Anson's body once more.

The third-level priest's [Divine Blessing] can slightly increase the recipient's soul strength and accelerate the cultivation of divine magic.

A gentle power flowed through Anson's body, nourishing his weakened form.

Anson showed a grateful expression: "Thank you very much, Dean."

Anselm withdrew his hand, the shock in his eyes fading, replaced by a complex emotion.

"Anson, you may truly have received divine grace."

He turned and walked back to his desk, took out a letter sealed with wax from the drawer, and the surface of which was printed with the holy emblem of the Church of Light.

A golden sun.

"Three days later, the diocese chief of the province of Ereon will come to inspect the monastery." Anselm handed the letter to Ansen.

"I will report your situation, and if the bishop approves, you may be recommended to study at the Cathedral of Holy Light."

Anson took the letter, his fingers trembling slightly, and this time it wasn't entirely feigned.

The Cathedral of Holy Light is the largest church in the province and the power center of the Church of Light in this region.

The bishop is a fifth-level high priest, whose strength is roughly equivalent to a third-level wizard in the wizarding world.

He also has dozens of fourth-level priests and hundreds of third- and second-level divine magicians under his command.

What Anson was concerned about was that there were higher-grade stigmata tablets, a more complete faith network, and more information about the inner workings of the Divine Court.

He was one step closer to his goal of accessing higher-level information.

"I...I am not worthy of this blessing." Anson lowered his head, his voice choked with sobs.

"Whether you're good enough or not isn't up to you to decide," Anselm said, looking at him with deep eyes.

"The will of the God of Light is inviolable by mortals!"

"You just need to remember that this gift is both an honor and a responsibility."

"Yes, Dean." Ansen bowed deeply.

He left the office and gently closed the heavy wooden door behind him.

The corridor was deserted, with only the candles burning silently on the walls.

Anson straightened up, the tears in his eyes vanishing instantly, replaced by indifference.

He glanced down at the letter in his hand, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Holy Light Cathedral..."

"I hope I can find what I want there."

He turned and walked steadily toward his bedroom.

His silhouette cast a long shadow in the candlelight.