Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

The old textile factory is located in the southwest district of Rield, near the edge of the city walls.

This area was once a hub for the textile industry, but it gradually declined as the industry shifted, leaving only empty factory buildings.

Lance stopped on a rooftop two hundred meters from his target.

[Summoning scout mosquitoes!]

Mosquitoes emerged from the void and silently flew toward the three-story brick building.

No one was on the third floor... and no one was on the second or first floor either.

"Wait, how can they be so arrogant? Don't they even have any guards?"

Lance was puzzled.

The scout mosquito entered a large basement through a wooden door.

A circular area, about twenty meters in diameter, had been cleared out inside the basement, where an altar was placed.

This altar is more complex than any I've seen before.

Three layers of stone steps are stacked into a pyramid shape, with the top platform about five meters in diameter, engraved with glowing runes that alternate between light and dark like breathing.

Twenty-four gray-robed men, all wearing hoods, stood around the altar, kneeling and worshipping facing the altar.

They chanted a strange prayer in a low voice, with unusual syllables that didn't sound like human language.

In front of the altar, twelve children were tied to wooden stakes.

They are all between six and ten years old, and there are both boys and girls.

Their mouths were gagged with strips of cloth, their eyes were covered with black cloth, and their bodies were trembling violently with fear.

Lance, through the scouting mosquitoes, was able to see the information above the head of the gray-robed man standing at the highest point:

[Target: Mole Jett]

Race: Human

[Occupation: Priest (Faith: Lord of Thirst)]

[Level: 6]

"If the bishop is only level 6, that's fine; the highest he can still use is a third-circle divine spell."

Lance pressed lightly on the silver badge, and the message was sent.

He waited quietly as the wind blew from the north, lifting a few strands of silver hair from his forehead.

Silver Manor.

The silver badge in Arya's arms suddenly became hot, and she grabbed it.

A small glimmer of light appeared on the badge, transforming into a simplified map—the old textile factory.

"It really is here..."

"gather!"

Twenty figures were already standing in two rows in the front yard.

Armor, longsword, bow and crossbow, their expressions were all the same—cold and ruthless.

Lillian and Cielsa leaped from the second floor, landing lightly with almost no sound.

"Mom! Are we leaving yet?"

"Yes, your teacher has confirmed the location."

Arya didn't turn around, but grabbed her two-handed greatsword from the weapon rack.

"We'll make our move tonight. You and Sissa stay on the perimeter and don't go near anything."

She took a deep breath, slung her greatsword over her shoulder, and shouted, "Let's go!"

Because everyone was a professional, they moved very quickly. In just a few minutes, Lance keenly sensed the movement coming from the other side of the street.

The slight scraping sound of armor, the dull thud of footsteps on the stone slabs, and a trace of the intense heat that Lance was all too familiar with.

Arya emerged from the night, her fiery red hair tied back, carrying a broadsword in her hand.

She was followed by about twenty people, all with serious expressions and silent, only their eyes shining in the darkness.

Lillian and Sissa walked at the back, the two girls standing very close together.

"Mr. Lance," Arya approached, her voice low, "how is the situation now?"

"They were all gathered underground around an altar."

Lance said, "There are six levels of bishops, and twenty-four believers. Sixteen of them are professionals, and the rest are ordinary people."

"Twelve children were tied to the altar and are still alive."

Arya pursed her lips.

She glanced back at her men, then at Lance: "How do we fight?"

After a moment's thought, Lance said, "The two of us will go in first. I'll cast a spell to control the situation, and the rest of you can rush in and take the bishop."

"Lillian, Sissa, you two stay outside."

The two girls nodded in agreement.

"Let's go." Arya waved to the people behind her.

The factory was filled with dilapidated textile machines, covered in a thick layer of dust.

An eerie chanting sound came from below, a buzzing sound that was hard to make out, but it made Lance feel uneasy.

Lance went down to the basement, and the chanting became clearer the further he went.

The tune was very strange, sometimes high, sometimes low, like crying and sometimes laughing.

After turning the last corner, the entire basement came into view.

Twenty-four gray-robed men knelt around the perimeter, while six men in dark gray robes stood in the inner circle.

The bishop, with his back to them, held a bone-white dagger high and drew it upwards in a sharp voice.

Twelve children were tied to wooden stakes in front of the altar. The youngest looked only five or six years old. Their bodies were trembling violently, and the blindfolds were soaked with sweat.

The bishop's raised dagger was already aimed at the first child's chest.

Lance did not hesitate.

He leaped down, forming a hand seal and casting a spell in mid-air.

[The Art of Being Greasy!]

The ground around the altar was instantly covered with slippery grease!

Several believers standing inside were caught off guard, screamed and fell down, crashing into each other.

"There's an attack!" a cult member shouted.

The bishop turned his head sharply, his yellow pupils locking onto Lance.

Lance landed and rolled forward to dissipate the force, followed closely by Arya, and the others also jumped down.

"Good evening."

Lance waved at the bishop. "Did I disturb your illegal assembly?"

The bishop stared at him, his face expressionless. A few seconds later, a stiff smile appeared on his lips.

"Half-elf mage... I've heard of you. You're that 'mysterious man' who's always attacking gangs when he has nothing better to do."

"But I don't think I've ever offended you, have I? On the contrary, you've ruined a lot of my plans, and I've always given in and never held it against you."

"Thank you so much," Lance said with a dismissive sneer.

"Then let me off this time, or better yet, commit suicide with your men."

"No, it means surrender and let me kill you."

The air in the basement seemed to freeze.

The runes on the altar flickered, reflecting on Bishop Mor Ledi's withered face.

He looked at Arya rushing in, then at Lance, something burning in his dark red pupils.

"Good, good...very good."

His hoarse voice rang out.

"That woman from the Silver Glow family, and this meddlesome mage, it seems you're determined to make trouble for me."

Arya held her greatsword horizontally in front of her, and flames shot up from the spine of the sword, illuminating half of her face.

"Moll Jett," she said.

"You're under arrest!"

"If you surrender, I can be lenient with you; but if you resist, you'll die here!"

The bishop suddenly laughed.

"die?"

He slowly raised the bone dagger.

"I'm afraid it won't be me who dies..."

"You've come at the perfect time. The souls of these twelve children are indeed excellent, but if we add the soul of a half-step Exemplary Flameheart from the Silver Glow family, and the soul of a half-elf mage... our Lord will surely bestow abundant blessings upon them!"