Wizard: My skills can be upgraded indefinitely.

She wore a faded coarse cloth dress with mud spots on the hem, and her finger joints were large with grime stuck under her fingernails.

His face was covered with wrinkles, his eyes were sunken, and his lips were chapped.

She knelt before the statue, hands clasped together, her voice hoarse and trembling: "Father..."

"I'm guilty... I stole my neighbor's eggs..."

Anson gently traced the badge on his chest with his fingertips, his eyes filled with compassion: "Lamb of my Lord."

"The devil delights in eavesdropping on the cowardice of penitents. Tell me, what made you turn away from the light?"

The old woman raised her head, tears welling up in her cloudy eyes.

"My grandson has had a high fever for three days now, and all we have left is hard bread... Mrs. Mary's chicken coop is right next to the fence, so close..."

She choked up, her shoulders shaking violently, "I...I just reached out and took two...just two..."

Anson closed his eyes and extended a faint wisp of his spiritual energy, gently touching the surface of the old woman's soul.

【Soul Soothing Spell】, a first-level divine spell, can calm emotions and soothe the mind.

This is not the standard divine spell in the church, but a simplified version that he modified after analyzing some of the principles of the divine spell based on the panel.

The effect is weak, but it can calm ordinary people down.

The old woman's sobs gradually subsided, and she raised her head blankly, feeling a lightening of the heavy guilt in her heart.

"The Lord is listening."

Anson opened his eyes, a hint of pity flashing deep in his pupils: "What you're holding isn't an egg, it's an act of mercy to save a child's life."

The old woman froze, her lips moved, but she swallowed back her words.

"But...theft is a serious crime..." she murmured softly, "The holy scriptures say that thieves will have their hands cut off..."

Anson leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice even further.

"Go ahead, boil the eggs for the child, and..."

He tapped the wooden partition three times with his fingertips, and a faint mental fluctuation spread out.

"Mrs. Mary's hen laid a double-yolk egg last night. It's a blessing from God, and she'll be very happy."

The old woman's eyes widened suddenly, and she gasped, "Father... how did you know...?"

Anson's lips curved slightly: "Because the Lord loves the world, and He also loves every hen that lays an egg."

He leaned back slightly, his fingertips leaving the partition.

"Now, go and light the candles in the confessional, and let the light bear your sins."

The old woman stood up shakily and walked to the candlestick in the corner.

She took out two gleaming copper coins from her bosom and dropped them into the offering box; these were her last savings.

Then the candles were lit, and the dim yellow flames flickered, casting swaying shadows on the face of the statue.

"May the Lord bless you, Father..." She bowed deeply and turned to leave.

The wooden door closed gently.

Anson sat there, glancing at the refreshed data on the panel.

[Subject: An elderly, unnamed woman]

[Emotional state: Guilt (62%), Despair (25%), Gratitude (13%)]

[Purity of Faith: 87% (High)]

Output: Baseline value × 2.3

[Note: Negative emotions (guilt + despair) accounted for 87%, fostering a high degree of faith]

He stared at the numbers silently for a long time.

Guilt accounted for 87%, and despair for 25%. These two emotions combined exceeded 100%.

In extreme states, emotions are mixed, superimposed, and mutually amplified, and the purity of faith is directly proportional to the intensity of negative emotions.

"Faith..." Anson murmured to himself.

Just then, the door to the confessional was pushed open again, and the second person to enter was a middle-aged man.

He wore a long silk robe embroidered with gold thread, three gemstone rings on his fingers, a slightly protruding belly, and a perfectly measured expression of piety on his face.

His kneeling posture was extremely standard; the angle at which his knees touched the ground, the height at which his hands were clasped together, and the angle of his head bowed all conformed to the "Code of Conduct for Repentance."

But his eyes darted around, glancing at the statues on the wall from time to time before quickly looking away.

"My lord above." His voice was smooth and rounded, with the slickness typical of a merchant.

"I underreported my taxes this time while I was trading... by about thirty gold coins."

He raised his eyelids to steal a glance at Anson, then quickly lowered them again.

"I donated twenty gold coins to the church and repaired the stained-glass windows of the east chapel. Should that atone for my sins?"

Anson looked at him, the compassion vanishing from his face.

The surface of this man's soul is covered with a thick, greasy layer.

"The Lord values ​​not gold coins, but a repentant heart."

A hint of impatience flashed across the man's face, but it was quickly masked by a devout expression.

"My heart is certainly devout! I attend Mass every week, and each time I donate no less than five gold coins!"

"Last year when the church roof was renovated, I donated fifty gold coins! Father, you can check the records..."

"The Lord doesn't need records," Anson interrupted him, his fingertips lightly tracing the badge. .

"He only looks here," he said, pointing to his chest.

The man's smile froze for a moment. He lowered his head, his lips moving silently, as if he were cursing or praying.

A few seconds later, he raised his head again, his face displaying an even more exaggerated piety.

"Then... I'll donate another ten gold coins! No, twenty!"

"Lord, forgive my sins!"

Anson didn't speak, he just quietly looked at the man.

Beneath that greasy facade lay calculation, wishful thinking, and the rage of being exposed.

"Go light the candles," Anson said finally, calmly.

"Let the flame light your way."

The man felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He quickly got up and put a silver coin into the offering box, not the gold coin he had mentioned.

He lit the candle, offered a hasty prayer, and then fled as if his life depended on it.

The wooden door closed, and the panel data refreshed again.

[Target: Merchant (suspected member of the jewelry guild)]

[Emotional state: wishful thinking (45%), calculating (38%), annoyed (17%)]

[Purity of Faith: 34% (Low)]

Output: Baseline value × 0.7

[Note: This is a utilitarian confession, with a high degree of impurity in its religious content.]

Anson looked at the line "benchmark value × 0.7", which was more than twice as little as the old woman's.

But this man's wealth may be a thousand times, or even ten thousand times, that of the old woman.

"Ha! Repentance..." Anson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

The purity of one's faith is inversely proportional to wealth and directly proportional to suffering.

The third penitent waited a long time before entering; it was already close to evening.

When the door was pushed open, the candlelight shone in and revealed a young woman holding a toddler in her arms.

She looked no older than twenty-five, but the fine lines around her eyes and her sunken eye sockets made her look at least ten years older.

The child was about three or four years old, with flushed cheeks, closed eyes, and rapid breathing.

"Father...save my child..." The woman's voice was hoarse, her knees slamming heavily onto the floor.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the child's forehead.

"He's had a fever for four days, and the doctors in town say there's no hope... He's taken medicine, and they've even sprinkled holy water on him..."

She raised her head, a last glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"I am willing to give everything... my house, my life, my soul..."

"I beg my Lord to grant my wish... I beg you... to save him..."

She began to kowtow, her forehead hitting the floor with a dull thud.

One, two, three...

Soon, streaks of blood appeared on the floor, a glaring crimson, but she continued to kowtow.

Anson got up and walked to the woman.

The woman froze, her kowtowing motion ceasing.

She stared blankly at Anson, watching the young priest walk around the partition, squat down, and reach out to touch the child's forehead.

Anson sighed inwardly as his fingertips touched his skin.

The child's body temperature was already dangerously high. If the fever continued, even if the child survived, their brain would be damaged.

Without hesitation, he placed his right hand on the child's forehead and his left hand lightly on his own chest.

【Simple Healing Technique】, a simplified version of a level-two divine spell, with only one-third the effect of the original, but it has no problem reducing fever.

The divine magic flowed down his arm, through his palm, and into the child's body.

The woman stared wide-eyed as she watched the child's flushed cheeks begin to fade, his breathing gradually even out, and his tightly furrowed brows relax.

A few seconds later, the child slowly opened his eyes: "Mommy..."

The sound was faint, like a kitten whimpering.

The woman shuddered, suddenly hugged the child, and burst into tears.

Anson withdrew his hand and stood quietly to the side.

At this moment, the power of faith emanating from the woman was pure and intense, almost solidified.

These forces of faith flow into the statues on the walls and, through hidden passages, into a network of faith deep underground.

The panel data reappeared.

[Subject: Young mother (anonymous)]

[Emotional states: Despair (40%), Devotion (55%), Ecstasy (5%)]

[Purity of Faith: 95% (Extremely High)]

Output: Baseline value × 4.1

[Note: For highly pure beliefs fueled by extreme emotions, it is recommended to focus on observing similar cases.]

Anson stared at the numbers, his eyes deep.

95% purity, 4.1 times the yield of the benchmark.

All this woman possessed was the child in her arms.

And she is now willing to give everything for this child, including her faith.

"The Lord has shown mercy," Anson whispered comfortingly, before returning to the partition.

"Take the child home and let him rest."

The woman's crying turned into sobs.

She kissed the child's forehead, repeatedly saying "Thank you, Lord" and "Thank you, Father."

Finally, she shakily pulled a cloth bag from her bosom, inside which were a few copper coins and a small silver ring.

The ring is old, its surface worn smooth, but the engraved patterns still reveal its former beauty.

"Father...this is the only valuable thing my mother left me..."

She placed the ring on the offering box and bowed deeply: "May the Lord always bless you..."

After saying that, she picked up the child and staggered away.

The wooden door closed, and the confessional returned to silence.

Anson sat back in his chair, tapping his fingertips lightly on the armrest, his eyes dark and unfathomable.

A week passed in daily repentance.

Anson recorded data on more than three hundred penitents.

An old beggar who makes a living by begging wept bitterly because he stole half a loaf of bread; his faith was 89% pure.

A widow who runs a tavern is forced to offer her body to the tax collector in order to save her business; her faith is 91% pure.

The craftsman, who was in debt from gambling and had nowhere else to turn, wanted to commit suicide. In the end, he knelt in front of the idol and begged for forgiveness. His faith was 93% pure.

There's more.

Every person driven to desperation by life, every soul struggling in suffering, every prayer offered when all hope seems lost…

The beliefs that arose were astonishingly pure.

In contrast, there are those believers who live in luxury.

The noblewoman who came for her routine confession, while complaining about the maid's clumsiness, mechanically recited the prayer; her faith purity was 21%.

A businessman who attends Mass every week but is already planning his next deal while praying has a faith purity of 17%.

Even some low-ranking clergy members, repeating the same rituals every day, have long since become numb.

Their faith is only about 30% pure on average.

Even some low-ranking clergy members, repeating the same rituals every day, have long since become numb.

Their faith is only about 30% pure on average.

The model built by the panel is becoming more and more sophisticated.

[Faith-Based Output Efficiency Model (Preliminary)]

High-purity emotions: guilt, despair, devotion, fanaticism

[Medium-purity emotions: gratitude, awe, dependence]

[Low-purity emotions: habitual prayer, routine repentance, utilitarian wishes]

[Collective rituals (Mass): Largest in total quantity, but with average purity of individual participants]

Anson looked at the data and fell silent again.

The Church of Light, or rather, the entire belief system of the Star Sea Divine Court, is essentially a massive and intricately operating...suffering converter.

They encourage repentance not out of compassion, but because faith born from a sense of sin is of the highest quality.

They advocate dedication not because it is noble, but because dedication made when all other options are exhausted is the purest.

They condone suffering, glorify suffering, and even... create suffering.

Because the more desperate a person is, the more likely they are to place all their hopes on the gods.

Hunger, disease, poverty, oppression... these are not evils that need to be eliminated, but rather "refining furnaces" that sift out the purest sources of faith.

"Faith network... Gods..."

Anson muttered to himself, his fingertips tracing lines on the wooden table, crisscrossing and eventually forming a simple symbol.

∞

An infinite loop, with no end in sight.

Believers pray amidst suffering, generating a high degree of faith, which is then harvested by the divine court and transformed into divine power.

Divine power is used to maintain rule, create more suffering, and foster more faith...

A perfect closed loop, ruthless, and highly efficient.

Anson closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, his expression calm.

He looked at the candle in the corner, its flame flickering and casting swaying shadows.

Like those souls struggling in suffering, they burn themselves to light the way for others.

The person sitting on the throne only needs to reach out and catch the dripping wax.