As an NPC, having a lot of skills is quite reasonable, right?

The enormous golden scales gleamed under the lights. This was the power center of the entire Northern Diocese, the office of the Noxar branch of the Church of Judgment. The air was filled with the smell of ink and incense.

"Alright, you can go now."

After listening to the spy's report about Nohanville, François Valen waved his hand.

The dim light illuminated his wrinkled face, and he forced a smile that looked rather unpleasant.

"I thought that stubborn old man Gray would cause a scene because he was unhappy with the church's arrangements, but I didn't expect him to hang out with that brat named Moen." François tapped his fingers lightly on the table, the tapping sound echoing in the empty room.

"This saves me a lot of trouble. It's much more convenient to catch them all at once than to clean them up one by one."

In the shadows, a knight with an expressionless face, clad in black and gold armor, stood like a wooden statue, his voice calm and even: "Your Excellency, regarding Cecio..."

Upon hearing this name, the smile in François's eyes vanished instantly.

"A good-for-nothing who's more likely to cause trouble than to accomplish anything."

"He can cause a huge uproar over a simple research project, yet he can't even kill a little girl during a beast tide. Dying at the hands of the monster he created is the best punishment for his incompetence."

He paused, his gaze sharpening: "Were those things destroyed?"

"It has been cleaned up, and there are no residues left at the scene. As for his research results..."

The knight pulled a sealed metal can from his pocket, inside which gushed a green liquid.

François took the metal can, a glint of light flashing in his cloudy eyes.

Only a few people knew that the terrifying blizzard that swept through Nohanville and lasted for months was not a natural disaster.

To carry out the plan to complete the container, François forcefully used a celestial-level divine spell that he was not yet very familiar with; changing the climate and controlling the beast tide were all his doing.

That spell almost drained half of his life force, leaving his once robust body extremely weak.

His weakened state triggered a chain reaction, and at that time, the Grand Inspector of the Secret Service sneaked into his bedroom without him noticing.

In order to restore this deficit, he acquiesced to Cecio's experiments on the Graces.

"Hmph, so-called rules..." François said dismissively.

On the surface, everyone talks amicably, but behind the scenes, nothing they do is in accordance with the rules.

The Star Pattern Academy established a special discipline to study those with divine favor; the Iron Oath War Hall secretly arranged for new recruits to engage in life-or-death sparring with those with divine favor; the Soul Requiem Hall wanted to understand more than anyone else why those with divine favor could be resurrected; and other churches did countless similar things.

God has been hidden from the world for a thousand years. Whether it was the wars between churches in the last hundred years or the disaster that nearly destroyed the world, God has never appeared again. Only the divinely ordained rituals that can still be performed indicate that God still exists.

A thousand years have passed, and after countless trials, how many people in the major churches today are still truly devoutly serving God?

Moreover, the oracle only informed them of the arrival of the God-giver, but made no mention of how to treat them. What they did did not violate God's will.

However, since an agreement has been made, this kind of secret research should ultimately not be brought to the forefront.

The department at the Star Pattern Academy that studies those blessed by Gods is known only to the higher-ups. If Cecio's research is discovered by Arya and reported to the church, François is not going to be so foolish as to step in to protect him.

François, without hesitation, turned around and reported Cecio, clearing himself of all charges, and presented the Archbishop with a new, more perfect plan—a plan targeting Arya and Grey.

This is precisely why Gray was specifically chosen to go to Nohanville.

François stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window lies Nox, the steel city, where countless chimneys spew black smoke, completely obscuring the sky.

"Grey," François murmured the name, his eyes becoming somewhat dazed.

His thoughts drifted back to the training ground forty years ago, to how spirited and high-spirited Gray had been back then.

That young man from the North, with the blood of an ancient family flowing through his veins, was hailed as "The Gray Wolf" by his instructors at the time.

He possessed the terrifying talent of being able to transform into a wolf while maintaining absolute rationality, and his heavy sword made his contemporaries unable to lift their heads.

At that time, François could only stand below the stage, looking up at that radiant figure.

"It's a pity that even young wolves grow old," François sighed softly, looking at his equally aged reflection in the glass.

Decades have passed, and that once arrogant genius is still just a lowly Holy Knight, and hasn't even become the highest-ranking Arbiter of the Knights Order.

The unremarkable François of yesteryear is now a shaman in red robes, holding the reins of life and death in his domain.

"When a wolf gets old, its teeth become dull."

The knight behind him interrupted his reverie, mechanically asking, "Your Excellency, is the plan still proceeding as scheduled? That man named Moen previously displayed considerable strength; could this be an unexpected turn of events?"

François laughed out loud as if he had heard a joke: "Mount? Just a slightly stronger ant."

"My target is that old wolf. Once I kill Gray, that wolf, I can easily crush that ant with my foot."

His eyes gradually turned fanatical: "As soon as Gray dies, that broken vessel that has always relied on him will completely collapse."

"Having lost the vessel for emotion, transforming from loving to indifferent, that is the truly perfect vessel!"

"By then, my plan will succeed, and the archbishop will regain his faith in me."

The knight didn't react and continued, "So, according to the original plan, is Chief Judge Miles of Mustaine City going to take over Nohanville's position? I heard he's about to enter the realm of celestial phenomena..."

"No," François interrupted him, raising his hand.

He looked out the window at the oppressive sky and said, "This time, I'll go myself."

"Go in person?" The knight was taken aback.

"Gray investigated the regional judge for violating church law; that's a great achievement." François adjusted his magnificent bishop's red robes, his smile sinister. "As the bishop of the Noxsa diocese, isn't it perfectly reasonable for me to personally preside over the investiture ceremony?"

Just then, something white drifted down from the perpetual industrial smog outside the window.

Then came the second piece, and the third piece.

"It's snowing?" François asked, somewhat surprised.

Noxsa hasn't seen snow for many years due to the high temperatures and smog from heavy industry.

The thick smog should have blocked everything, but today's snow seems particularly persistent.

François pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped onto the cold terrace.

The cold wind, mixed with snow, fell on his pale face, which was pale from years of not seeing the sun.

He stretched out his withered hand and caught a snowflake. The icy touch reminded him of when he was young, and how Gray had stared blankly at the first snowfall in the holy city of Paradis.

"You always say the snow here is too dirty, not as white as the snow in the North." François looked at the melting snow in his hand, which, mixed with the coal dust in the air, turned into a pool of murky black water.

Everyone has their own stance. Gray chose to stick to his principles, while he chose to conform to the system. These are different paths, and there is no right or wrong.

"Since you like snow so much..." François shook the dirty water off his hands, turned around and walked back to the dark office. The door behind him slammed shut, shutting out the falling snow.

"Then I will personally let you rest peacefully in the ice and snow you love."

"Old friend."