Wizard: My skills can be upgraded indefinitely.

Three days later, at dawn.

The quiet monastery was broken by the sound of bells, and the monks gathered in the square, lining up in neat rows according to their rank.

Anson stood at the front of the line, with Dean Anselm beside him.

He changed into a brand new white robe, wearing a silver badge on his chest symbolizing a third-degree priest, and looked solemn.

At the horizon, a carriage drawn by four white horses slowly approached, its surface adorned with intricate divine patterns that left faint sacred marks on the muddy road.

The carriage stopped in front of the monastery gate, the door slid open, and a tall figure stepped out.

This person was none other than Bishop Thomas, a high-ranking clergyman in the province of Erion, and a fifth-level high priest.

He looked to be about fifty years old, wearing a red bishop's robe that reached his ankles, and holding a scepter in his hand, giving him a solemn and dignified appearance.

Most strikingly, he was surrounded by a golden halo, which was not a divine spell deliberately released, but rather a "holy radiance" formed by long-term immersion in the power of faith.

Anselm quickly stepped forward and bowed, saying, "Welcome, Your Excellency."

Thomas nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the monks in the square before finally settling on Anson.

"Is it him?" His voice was deep and heavy, carrying a sense of oppression.

"Yes." Anselm stepped aside. "His name is Anson. He suddenly awakened his divine grace a month ago and has now mastered the second-level divine spell 'Touch of Light'."

Thomas remained silent, a soft light emanating from the tip of his scepter, and a golden ripple spread out, enveloping Anson's entire body.

Anson's face showed a hint of tension as a force far stronger than Anselm's swept over his body.

The panel vibrated slightly, adjusting all the disguises to their perfect state.

His soul's purity, the purity of his faith's imprint, and the lingering divine grace within him—all conformed to the characteristics of a divinely blessed person.

The square was silent; no one dared to speak, and even the cultivators deliberately slowed their breathing.

The investigation lasted a full minute before Thomas withdrew his scepter, and the golden ripples dissipated.

He stared at Anson, a flicker of emotion crossing his dark brown eyes, before falling silent.

Anselm's heart tightened, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

At this moment, Thomas finally spoke up: "Anson, the church needs someone like you."

After saying that, he turned and went back into the carriage, and the door closed silently.

Anselm let out a long sigh of relief, turned to Anson and whispered, "Go, child, this is your opportunity."

Anson bowed slightly and walked toward the carriage. As he passed through the procession, he saw Peter standing in the crowd.

The honest-looking young cultivator's eyes were full of envy. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just nodded vigorously.

He also saw Caspian, the demanding deputy deacon, and forced a smile onto his face.

Anson ignored the other party and stepped directly into the carriage.

The monastery gradually shrank in the field of vision, eventually becoming a small dot on the horizon.

He withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes to meditate.

The seven-day journey was dull and tedious, and Thomas didn't interact with him much.

The carriage traveled along the paved holy road, through plains and forests, passing several small towns along the way.

Everywhere you go, you can see believers kneeling by the roadside, praying devoutly in the direction of the carriage.

Anson clearly sensed that the power of faith generated by these prayers flowed like a trickle towards a certain spot on the carriage, with only a very small portion dissipating into the air.

On the evening of the seventh day, the carriage entered a magnificent city gate.

Holy Light City, the capital of the province of Ereon, is a megacity with a population of over one million.

The streets are wide and clean, with buildings on both sides mostly made of white stone and roofs covered with red tiles. Pedestrians are dressed smartly, and their faces show peace and contentment.

Anson's attention was completely drawn to the buildings in the center of the city.

The Cathedral of Holy Light is a colossal structure covering more than 100,000 square meters. It is entirely built of white stone and its surface is carved with countless reliefs and scriptures praising the God of Light.

The church spire soared into the clouds, reflecting a golden light in the setting sun.

In the square in front of the church stands a 100-meter-tall statue of the God of Light.

The statue holds a scepter, gazes into the distance, its face both compassionate and majestic, and is surrounded by twelve golden halos.

This is not mere decoration, but a tangible manifestation of the power of faith, its halo slowly rotating and radiating a vast and sacred aura.

The carriage stopped at the edge of the square. Anson opened the carriage door and looked up at the statue.

Just then, the panel vibrated silently, and pale gold lettering swept across the field of vision.

[Large-scale Faith Harvesting Array Detected: Level 6 Divine Spell Architecture]

[Coverage Area: Province of Ereon]

[Daily output of the power of faith: approximately the daily prayers of a million devout believers]

[Encryption Method: Twenty-four Layers of Faith Imprint Encryption]

[Seventeen secondary shunt nodes were detected, three of which showed slight overflow (loss rate approximately 0.3%).]

Anson's pupils constricted; was it an overflow of faith?

A loss rate of 0.3% may sound insignificant, but it represents the daily prayers of a million believers.

This means that the faith power equivalent to that of three thousand believers is wasted every day due to node design or maintenance issues.

These lost beliefs did not return to heaven and earth, but rather dissipated in the air around the church.

Like a gold mine, a small amount of gold dust leaks out from the cracks in the mine every day, which is a tolerable loss for the mine owner.

But for someone who secretly carries a sieve and waits at the entrance of the cave...

Anson suppressed the turmoil within him, his face displaying just the right amount of awe and shock. A book drought? Come on over!

The portico is twenty meters high, and the two heavy bronze doors are engraved with the creation myth of the God of Light, who created the world from chaos and gave life to all things.

The door slowly opened, revealing a large hall capable of holding ten thousand people, with dozens of colossal pillars requiring three people to encircle supporting the dome.

It is decorated with a mural of the starry sky, and the stars are inlaid with crystals, sparkling under the magical light.

At the far end of the hall is a pure gold altar, behind which is a statue of the God of Light, more exquisite and more "realistic" than the one in the square.

Anson felt a slight tremor in his heart. A surge of energy waves came from below the altar. This was the core of the entire province's faith harvesting.

"Anson." Bishop Thomas stopped and turned around. "From this day forward, you are a junior gracious recipient of the Holy Church."

"Here we will provide you with the best resources, the best mentors, and the best training environment. All you have to do is..."

His deep brown eyes met Anson's directly: "It's piety."

Anson lowered his head, placing his right hand on his left chest—a standard gesture of respect from the Church of Light.

"Yes, I will follow the bishop's instructions."

The next morning.

A deacon in a white robe arrived and led Anson to a side chapel in the side of the church.

More than thirty young people, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-five, had already gathered inside the hall.

They wore uniform white robes with badges of different colors on their chests, which were indicative of their rank as God's Favorites.

Anson's badge is pure white, representing "beginner".

"Gentlemen." A priest of about forty years old walked to the front of the temple, wearing the silver badge of a third-order priest on his chest.

His voice boomed: "I am your mentor Leonard. From today onward, you will systematically study the doctrines, scriptures, and theories of magic here."

"The course is divided into several parts: morning prayer, theory class... Let's begin with morning prayer."

Everyone knelt down at the same time, facing the small statue of the deity in the hall, and began to recite prayers.

Anson followed suit, his lips moving slightly, but his consciousness sank into the panel.

[Following a pattern of faith fluctuations detected during collective prayer... with a highly consistent frequency]

[Purity of Faith: Medium (Purity increases by 15% through collective emotional resonance)]

[Recommendation: Traffic interception can be attempted; risk level: low]

Anson did not act immediately. This place was not like the monastery; he needed to figure out the surveillance system here first.

The morning prayers lasted for half an hour, after which Leonard began to teach the theory of magic.

"Divine magic is a gift from our Lord to believers, but this gift does not come from nowhere. The more devout your faith, the stronger the power of divine magic you can wield."

He slightly raised his right hand, and a soft white light appeared in his palm.

"This is the most basic first-level divine spell, 'Holy Light,' which can be used to illuminate and dispel darkness."

"To use it, one must have the mark of faith bestowed by our Lord in one's soul."

Leonard dispelled the white light and his gaze swept over the crowd.

"I know that some of you are already capable of casting second- or even third-level divine spells."

"But I must tell you, truly powerful divine magic requires a deeper connection with our Lord."

The class continued until noon, and Anson was assigned to a single dormitory room.

The room wasn't large, about fifty square meters, but it was much more spacious than the monastery's bedroom, with a separate desk and wardrobe.

Importantly, in the corner of the room, there was a brand new Holy Mark slab, which was of a higher grade than his previous defective one.

Anson walked up to the stone slab, reached out and touched it, and the panel immediately gave a response:

[Improved version of the Stigmata Slab detected; Faith transfer efficiency increased by 300%]

[Impurity filtration efficiency: increased by 150%]

[Encryption Levels: Five]

[WARNING: The stone slab contains built-in monitoring runes that record the user's prayer frequency and faith output.]

Anson withdrew his hand, a knowing glint in his eyes. The cathedral's surveillance had become even tighter.

But this still didn't stump him; it just took him a little time to figure it out.

In the evening, Anson approached Leonard and said, "Mentor, I hope to work in the confessional."

Leonard was organizing his lesson plans when he heard this. He looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

A confessional? That's a place for ascetics, where they listen to the filthy words of believers all day long, which can even affect their own piety.

"Why do you want to go there?" Leonard asked, somewhat puzzled.

Anson lowered his head and said sincerely, "When I was in the monastery, I often heard the abbot say that listening to the confessions of others can purify one's own soul."

"I want to get closer to my Lord."

Leonard stared at him for a few seconds, then finally nodded.

"Since you're so willing, then go ahead and find Butler Martin; he'll make the arrangements."

The confessional is located in the church's basement, with dozens of small rooms arranged along the long corridor.

Each room is only a few square meters in size, separated by heavy wooden doors. Inside the room, besides a table, two chairs, a small offering box, there are only small idols on the walls.

Anson was assigned to confessional room number seven.

His job is to sit here and listen to believers' confessions every afternoon from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m.

After he sat down, he discreetly checked the room and found no other signs of surveillance except for the statue.

Soon, the door to the confessional was gently pushed open, and the first person to confess for him appeared.

The door hinges emitted a faint creaking sound, which was particularly clear in the quiet space.

Anson sat behind the wooden partition, looking at the person who had come through the grille.

She was an old woman.